


Tevinter Templar Soldier Spy

by Davechicken, Shadow_Side



Series: Tevinter Templar Soldier Spy [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Non-Consent, Consent Play, Eventual Linkup With Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Poisoning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prequel AU, References to Rape (not in main pairing), Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Sex Magic, Sexual Roleplay, discussion of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 307,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28923156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Side/pseuds/Shadow_Side
Summary: A chance encounter with a templar sees the Iron Bull hired to take down a rogue Tevinter mage. But when he meets Dorian Pavus, he quickly starts to re-evaluate his mission and his calling. Andthenit turns out Dorian might be trying to prevent the end of the world...[An AU-prequel toInquisition][World State: Female Cousland Warden/King Alistair, Female Rogue Hawke/Anders, Female Mage Lavellan/Solas]
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Series: Tevinter Templar Soldier Spy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143959
Comments: 22
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the latest fic to take over our lives!
> 
> Please do have a glance over the tags/warnings before you start, and feel free to drop us a line if you want to query or check anything. Sometimes things get a bit edgy, so we'd rather you were forewarned and not taken by surprise. (Unless you _enjoy_ being taken by surprise, of course. We don't judge!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> [Artwork by the amazing [lonicera.caprifolium](https://instagram.com/lonicera.caprifolium?igshid=1nmiip3o41035)!]

The Iron Bull has never been fond of the Free Marches. Too much shit for one Bull. Maybe the only good thing about them, he thinks, is that it has easy access to ale.

Which, come to think of it, so does everywhere else. But at least it's _cheap_.

He's in the ass-crack of beyond – somewhere near Hasmal that's dismal enough to barely have a name – and he's nursing a tankard with the depressing realisation that he could have seventeen more and not feel any differently. Except need to piss. 

Bull listens with half an ear to the conversations going around and above him. You don't turn that kind of awareness off, even if you're just filtering or processing it on the faintest thread of your consciousness. If he needs to know anything, he'll know.

Like, say, when the boots that walk in (worn, steady, measured pace) arouse a little reaction from the other patrons, and when the boots that walk in seem to make a bee-line for his small booth. 

Human, or a heavy-set elf. Likely male, but not necessarily. Not local. Not as confident as it wants to appear. He tips the tankard, using the gesture to catch the reflection on another patron's glass. 

Templar. 

Not what he expected.

The newcomer does not stop until he reaches the edge of the table; all direct confidence and deliberation, but with a caution behind his movements that suggests he's not quite as at ease as he wants to appear. He also hasn't ordered anything, which some might consider telling.

"I wonder if I might join you. I have a job opportunity that may be of interest." The words are as measured as the movements, but a little too stilted to be truly casual.

And, before giving Bull time to reply, the templar slides into the seat opposite him, moving with as much ease as is possible when wearing full armour. He's human, maybe in his late thirties or early forties, with a fairly nondescript face. But his accent, at least, is enough to reveal him as being from somewhere in Starkhaven.

"You seem to have accomplished that already," Bull remarks, with less good humour than most he knew would normally expect. Not that anyone here knows him. He's just another Qunari… merc. 

Like the Tal-Vashoth he's been asked to portray, by the Ben-Hassrath. 

So, he's doing his duty. 

The one eye slides quickly over the other man, filling in what his ears couldn't. Drawing very rapid, and very accurate conclusions. Starkhaven, but the tone is slightly muted, meaning he's travelled around the Marches. And to be striding around in templar gear, still, on his own and not that far from Kirkwall… all very, very telling.

"I'm not cheap." Bull's also not one for working with others. Not… currently, anyway. So this polished mage-dampener had better make it interesting, or worthwhile, or he'll soon _not_ be joining him. 

"I'm not looking for cheap," the templar replies. "I'm looking for _talent_. A cursory glance at the current occupants of this establishment tells me you are the only one who might be able to provide that."

He sits forward a little, hands on the tabletop. It's a gesture clearly designed to suggest a lack of need for hostility, given that said hands are therefore nowhere near the man's longsword. "My name is Ser Padraig Harland. And you are..?"

Hah. _Hissrad_? Or _Ashkaari_ or… "The Iron Bull. Remember the article." 

Which, he knows, will make him stand out even more. Few people discuss grammatical terms when negotiating violent outcomes. 

Bull files away the name, though. He can check it out later. It's not a well-known surname, so it's no acknowledged bastard, or younger son. Everything is important if you only know how to use it. 

"So… now we've established that… what is it you're looking for? Templars don't normally need muscle. Or don't admit it, at least."

He wishes he could say he's warming, and maybe to the unobservant he is. His lips curl in the close approximation of a smile, one that shows a glint of teeth, and his body language is bordering on tense, but… wound, not angry, or afraid. Keyed up. He levels out his breathing to slightly slower, adjusts his seating, watches to see if the other responds in kind. 

At least it's slightly more interesting than the usual people he meets in dives like this. Slightly. 

"As it happens, this one might be of particular interest to you," Ser Padraig remarks, leaning in a little closer. "I'm hunting a target. A mage – not that _this_ will surprise you – and a very troublesome one to boot. Certainly more troublesome than I would care to handle on my own."

A pause, like he's saved the best for last. "A Tevinter. The son of a magister, in fact."

Hah. "An **altus** you mean." Bull knows more than enough about Tevinter and its layered hierarchy. If they hadn't done it almost solely on bloodlines instead of merit – oh, and the whole 'Magic Is The Most Important Thing' – they'd have been considered relatively civilised by the Qun. 

But the magic? Sticking point. Beyond sticking. Downright gummed right shut. 

Still. An altus would likely be a worthy adversary, though more worthy without a damned templar around. Though you still had to get close enough, and then there was the prospect of vengeance from the Vints, and…

"I'm listening. Though I'm also wondering why there's a Vint altus wandering around the Marches, and why the local templars would risk going after him." 

"That's part of the issue," Padraig answers. "We're not precisely sure of his intentions, but we have reason to believe he may have come to stir up trouble among the mages here in the Free Marches, or perhaps in Ferelden. Ever since the… incident… in Kirkwall, there have been reports of a number of Tevinter agents moving south. Though not any of _this_ importance, until now. The Order would very much like to avoid any further unpleasantries, especially those with Tevinter's interests at heart."

He sits back a little, clearly confident in having gotten the other man's interest. "We need him alive, which makes this more challenging. Ordinarily, I would have other templars with me, but given the current _circumstances_ , that was impossible. Too many have scattered, or gone rogue. Hence, I come to you."

"Alive?" More challenging. More of a fight. Subdue, control, maintain. Bull's mind whirls through several scenarios right away, then assesses the templar's physical conditioning, alertness, and drive. 

His neck cracks as he twists it; that old, old call somewhere in his gut. He knows he needs to get it out of his system, if he's ever going to be useful again. He really does _not_ want to have to… there are better ways of getting himself back under control. 

"Tricky. You'll need constant vigilance over his abilities. Can you dampen them in your sleep? Or you planning to drug him under? How far you need to transport him? How many bodyguards we talking?" 

Padraig headtilts. "Not in my sleep, no, but it shouldn't be difficult during waking hours, even with someone of his ability. As for the rest of the time, there are several options available to us; none of them especially pleasant, but enough to ensure our target is nullified. A certain amount of _force_ may be necessary, which is where you would come in."

There's a hint of relish in his voice at this, which he makes no efforts to hide.

"As for bodyguards," he continues, "none other than you. This is a matter of some discretion. We have been provided with this man's whereabouts by a contact in Tevinter, in exchange for our promise to deliver him – alive and reasonably intact – to a location on the border. We get rid of a dangerous mage, they get their wayward citizen back. Win-win."

"And him? What's his entourage look like?" He notes the slight air of sadism, puts it in the mental file, but doesn't discount this job just yet. Plenty of sadists pay very well, and Bull doesn't like mages. 

Well, no. He doesn't like Vint mages. For a reason. He's met several perfectly good ones from elsewhere, but he's also met several bloody awful ones from elsewhere, too. 

But even not-liking them, there's… limits. Unless the bastard comes out swinging burning corpses of children… Bull tends to meet force with just _enough_ force. Usually.

Unless he's in a bad mood. And he doesn't like to be in a bad mood, but he is. 

He also doesn't like it when he's second-guessing himself. Another reason the Chargers are far, far away from him right now. Krem will take good care of them, while he gets his head back on straight. Knocks a few walls down with his horns. Shakes the sand out. 

The last few jobs haven't scratched the itch, and he's simply delaying the inevitable. Either he sorts himself out, or he has to ask someone else to do it for him. Again.

"And is there anything else I need to know?" 

"From what we can gather, he's travelling alone," Padraig answers, and there's that relish again: something coiled, and predatory, and not at all unfamiliar with this sort of thing. Though perhaps less so where a Tevinter is concerned. "Either he is very confident or very foolish. Or both, indeed."

The templar leans in again. "Beyond that, no. Nothing more, except that he will be trouble, and when he can't fight his way out, he _will_ attempt to talk his way out instead. And that is most definitely more trouble than it sounds."

The Qunari huffs, and dangles the now-empty tankard from his finger. "That's why you gag them. Or – you should. Damn _bas_ could learn a thing or two from the Qun." 

Or maybe the South should just get off their arses and join in the fist-fight. If the other _bas_ really hated Tevinter that much, an Exalted March or whatever, from each direction? That would work.

"Fill my boots and then talk coin." 

Padraig smiles. "Say no more."

He waves over one of the serving girls and gestures to Bull. "Another tankard for my friend, and I'll have the same."

The girl nods and moves off – though not without giving Bull a _very_ approving look – and once they're alone again, Padraig meets Bull's eyes.

"The bounty is five hundred sovereigns, to be split equally between us." He smiles again. It's a damn lot of money, and he clearly knows it.

"I get paid up front," Bull points out. After the incident… "But I'll accept a down-payment. If you also cover the expenses." 

Five hundred isn't to be sniffed at, but also: you learn not to sell yourself short. And he won't be out of pocket on this, even if it does sound interesting. 

As does the serving girl. She's been hovering most of the night. Humans and elves like him. He's a very likeable guy, when he wants to be. He isn't sure he wants to be tonight, though. And what he wants, he won't get from her. 

Padraig nods. "I can offer fifty sovereigns as a down-payment, but the rest – for both of us – is dependent on a successful capture and handover of the target. I will cover expenses, however, so long as they are reasonable."

The serving girl returns, and sets a full tankard down in front of each of them. She gives Bull another of those lingering looks as she does, but Padraig somewhat ruins the moment by leaning to hand over the coin for their drinks.

He waits for the girl to take the hint and leave them be before speaking again. "Do we have a deal?"

Either Good Ser Padraig is unwilling to pay for entertainment, or he's a prude, Bull assumes. It will require some additional probing to narrow down quite why he's so happy to get between a man and his very obviously willing courtier. 

Bull decides he can be a bastard, too. This guy needs him more than the other way around. He slowly swigs, head back, letting his throat work over the ale before he slams the empty vessel down with a thud. 

"Another round or two and I think we do, Ser Harland." 

***

Dorian Pavus is having a really, really horrible day.

He's been travelling south for weeks now – or certainly what feels like weeks – and it seems as though Thedas gets colder with every step. What's worse, he's no closer to his actual goal (save for in a geographical sense, which is somehow little comfort) and rapidly running out of both time and patience.

And he's on foot. When he left Tevinter, he was on horseback, but a few nights ago – finding himself increasingly low on coin and deeply unhappy at the thought of sleeping outside _again_ – he let the lure of free-flowing ale and a warm bed seduce him into selling the damn thing.

Or perhaps it was the nice young man in the tavern in question. Dorian really isn't sure. It had been a good night, all things considered, but he can't help regretting it now.

His journey has been much the same all the way: nights in taverns whenever he could, and days begrudging the hangovers that inevitably followed. He's asked questions: subtly, unsubtly and everything in between, and though there's definitely still a trail ahead of him, he worries with growing intensity that it's going cold.

He has to find his quarry. _He has to_. This can't be heading the way he fears it's heading… but he's rarely wrong.

It's a terrible burden.

Right now, it's late afternoon, and the air is certainly colder than it should be for this time of year. The road ahead is long, and empty, and Dorian is confident he won't make it to another town before nightfall. Which means camping.

 _Again_.

He desperately wants to take a break. Not because he's tired – on the contrary, his pace is comfortable and hardly arduous – but because being alone on the road is so very _dull_. No conversation. No stimulation. Nothing but grassland and forest, and the wistful song of unfamiliar birds.

A couple more hours. A couple more hours, and then he'll stop, and find somewhere secluded to camp for the night. These roads aren't known for being particularly hazardous, but there's no reason to take ridiculous risks. Not when there's no reward, at least.

Even if a little excitement might do him good. Though perhaps that's tempting fate.

***

Had he not been Ben-Hassrath, the Iron Bull still wouldn't have found it difficult to catch the trail of a Tevinter mage wandering around openly. Apostates in the south tended to be a little more circumspect, and so either the quarry is ridiculously dangerous (possible, exciting), or entirely unable to understand how damn obvious he's being (less exciting, potentially utterly boring).

When the last inn revealed a horse as well as a rumour, Bull knew they were close. And also, that the prey was weakening. Shedding goods… useful goods… it was like clots of life-blood, thrown out in the chase. 

If they weren't fast enough, maybe some other mercenary group would steal the bounty. And that wouldn't do. Bull had a plan for all that gold, and most of it was liquid.

The horse didn't cost much. Bull paid, and slung the templar and their gear on, and urged the beast on. He could out-pace a human, no questions asked.

Which lead them to this: a hilly path that had to be used, or else long diversions into the surrounding trees or river. Bull had gambled on the mage not using the shortcut through the cattle-ford, and taken up a position on one side of the road, at the base of the hill, the templar across the way.

Tricky to hold long enough that the quarry wouldn't risk turning their back to run back up, and to give them a slight advantage of higher ground… but oh-so-worth it for the payoff. His eyes catch the templar's instructing him to hold. Hold. Hold. 

Dorian is not stupid. People are sometimes lulled into _thinking_ that he is, because of his fondness for drink and the company he keeps – to say nothing of a certain lust for the outrageous – but behind it all, he's a lot more cautious than he appears. And this is not the first time he's travelled alone.

Nevertheless, he _is_ clearly off his game, because when the hairs prick up on the back of his neck, he knows he's noticed too late. But he doesn't hesitate to let his staff flick sharply to the side, flames licking into life along the top, whilst his free hand comes up glowing. Anyone less than serious trouble is usually smart enough to turn tail at a display like that, and it's more than likely he's just run into the hunting grounds for a bandit group.

Tedious, but not a problem. So why is instinct telling him otherwise..?

Now. Bull dips his head in the slightest of nods, unleashing the templar who doesn't quite want to listen, despite paying him for just such a situation. 

Knowing full well he can take a few hits regardless, Bull hefts his great-axe and roars from his belly upwards, lips curled back and battle-fury tingling from head to toe. Fucking mages. Fucking Vints. Fucking…

He gets into range as fire licks around his fingers, but the heat just spurs his blood hotter, and he bears down with the axe, grunting at the surprising amount of resistance. 

Dorian would be swearing under his breath – or more vocally – were he not having to concentrate rather harder than he likes to hold back the fucking _massive_ Qunari charging right at him.

A Qunari. A fucking _Qunari_. Here?

He keeps the staff up with one hand, disgorging as much flame as he can to keep some distance between himself and the other man, whilst simultaneously trying to flick a barrier into life in case there's another mage lurking close by. No point using all his energy to hold off the big, scary Qunari if he gets a lightning bolt in the back for his trouble.

And that's when his brain processes the second figure: a nondescript human man in plate armour, rising from his own hiding spot and advancing, with a subtle glow at his own hand that is magic, but… but not. No.

Oh _no_.

A templar. A _southern_ templar.

"Stay back!" he shouts, though even as he does, he can hear how ridiculous it sounds. And he can _feel_ the magic slowly leeching from the world, as if reality is re-forming to no longer allow it.

And he hates that feeling. _Hates it_. Not just because it's like losing a sense, but also because it reminds him so very strongly of…

…No. No. One thing at a time.

He swipes upwards with the staff, trying to throw the Qunari back with a stronger wave of flame, hoping against hope that it connects before the templar gets too close.

Bull can see the panic in those eyes, white against sunset-kissed dunes. It's pure, and almost… animal in a sense. Natural. People _should_ fear him. Even if he then processes that the real threat to this mage is…

…the templar. Not himself.

And just like that, the pure joy of it is bitter. It's wine left to go stale. He's the Iron fucking Bull and this Vint just… 

Bull smacks the handgrip of his axe at the staff, then shoves his shoulder bodily into the mage, almost daring him to try something more… visceral. Weight up high, a swing of his own staff at his legs, aiming to topple him.

He is. Not. Going. To let this one ignore him like that. It was Bull's plan. Bull's strategy. Bull's hunt. He has the blade against his throat the minute he goes down.

"Stay the fuck down. Or I use this." 

Dorian is well aware that staying the fuck down isn't an option right now, if he wants to get out of this intact. And whilst he's not incapable of physical combat, he's also outnumbered, and both of his opponents are _experts_ in physical combat.

Or brute strength, at least.

But they've already got him pinned, and he simply isn't going to be able to take two of them down without magic. His barrier fizzles and dies – not a great loss as he doesn't seem to be facing another spellcaster – but it's the fading flames that cause the real upset. He tries once more to make them flare again, but it's like fighting against a tidal wave, and struggling is just sapping the energy he's going to need elsewhere.

Assuming they don't just kill him on the spot.

"Let's not do anything hasty, now," he says, switching tack as rapidly as possible.

Bull grunts. It's what he 'wanted', but it also isn't. Quick, efficient, relatively bloodless and contained. 

Smart.

(And so, so not what he needed. He's too efficient for his own good.) 

"That's a good boy," he says, fighting the sneer of 'Is that the best you can do?' that threatens to bleed into his voice.

And shit, but this one's young. He knows how to tell with humans, and it's a bit clearer than with elves and some dwarves. Makes sense if his father's the magister, but still… damn thing probably only had a few years to cultivate that facial hair. He's privileged, and he's… out here. Seemingly against Imperium wishes. 

But Bull was paid to capture and contain and deliver, nothing more. 

"Get the cuffs on him," he says to Padraig, without ever averting his gaze. "He's going to come along nicely, aren't you?"

"Look, I'm sure we can figure this out without the need to resort to anything unpleasant," Dorian says at once, his mouth running ahead of his brain whilst his brain tries not to do anything unbecoming, like panic. "Who put you up to this? Was it my father? If so, I can double whatever he's paying you."

Well, probably. Not immediately, but he can always bat his eyelashes at Maevaris and secure a loan. This _is_ for the greater good, after all. She would understand.

The templar is having none of it, and yanks Dorian up onto his knees, pulling his hands behind his back. "You're not talking your way out of this one, mage," he growls. "Keep quiet if you know what's good for you."

"And if I don't?"

"Do you know what Qunari do to our _own_ mages?" Bull asks, hefting the blade up and dropping it to rest above his shoulder. It has the benefit of suddenly bringing into the spotlight his impressive horn-span, and stretching his chest out. 

Bull may be scarred, but each of those is a reminder that someone _didn't_ manage to kill him. "You sold your horse. Don't think you can even buy that back, let alone yourself."

Said horse is not that far away, and seems to know it is the subject of discussion, because it snorts in disapproval. 

Dorian tries to look haughty and unimpressed. "I sold that wastrel because he was slowing me down. If you were foolish enough to buy him, that's your problem."

The words hide a great deal of growing fear, though he's still making an effort to hide it. Them taking him alive is a good thing in the short term, yes, because it involves him not being dead. The question is, who _has_ put them up to it, and what are their long-term intentions where Dorian is concerned?

There are several possible answers, and none of them are good. In fact, the person in question being his father might actually be one of the less bad options.

And don't think about the threat radiating off that Qunari; in his every word, every gesture. Especially not that. The templar is only dangerous because he can suppress Dorian's magic. But the Qunari? Even with magic, he'd still be a problem.

"Fine, then," Dorian says. "If not money, then what? I'm sure we can come to _some_ sort of arrangement."

"You sit nice and pretty on the horse, and we take you to the nice… whoever it is that wants you enough to pay for _me_ , and we all have a pleasant time." 

Bull clucks to the horse, who whinnies and steps closer. 

Once the cuffs are on, Bull grabs the mage's collar (and does he need so many fucking layers and buckles, if they won't even cover him up?) and hoists him bodily off the ground, over to the horse, and drops him into the saddle. 

"You need strapping in?" With his hands behind his back, balancing will not be as easy, Bull knows. Which is partially the point: keep him focussed on staying upright, so he can't think too much about escape. 

"I'd rather you didn't touch me at all, thank you very much," Dorian throws back, because he does not like being manhandled like that. Not like _that_. **Fun** manhandling, sure. But the kind of manhandling that involves him being dragged off to whoever-knows-where… no.

Except in the odd fantasy or two. Though this is probably not the right time to think about those, especially as they never involved Qunari. Or templars, for that matter. (Or the damn horse).

"Unless you plan on buying me dinner first, of course," he goes on, because suicidal overconfidence is an _endearing_ trait to some. "In which case, I might be amenable. Maybe a good roll in the hay would change your mind about this."

Bull actually laughs at that. Oh, he wouldn't get on well back in Tevinter, this one, would he? Nope. And he lets his eye trail over him, because… why not? (Also, he still wants to know what Ser Padraig thinks of all this.)

"You'll be fed. And even if you've been slumming it down here, I'm not sure you'd be so ready to ditch a nice, soft bed and a nice, hard headboard for some hay…" Although Bull would happily do either. And thinking of despoiling a Vint in…

"Pretty as you might be, I don't think _anyone_ is worth five hundred for a night… and a morning…" His hand grips the man's shoulder; heavy, warm, and lingeringly threatening. Jostles him, to test his balance. "The good templar said you'd run your mouth. He's also ready to close it, if he has to. And you wouldn't want that, would you…?"

" _Perish_ the thought," Dorian manages, dryly, though the threats aren't helping, and now the initial burst of adrenaline has died down, he's realising just how serious a situation he's in.

And he does _not_ like the way either of them are looking at him. The Qunari, for obvious reasons, and the templar… the templar for obvious reasons too, come to think of it. Dorian's heard plenty of stories about what the southern Order is like, and the downright predatory look in the man's eyes is making him worry those stories are true.

It's come to something if the Qunari is the one he's _less_ worried by, hasn't it?

"Jolly good," says Ser Padraig, coldly, with a fresh hint of relish in his tone. "Though if you change your mind, go right ahead. You Tevinters need putting in your place…"

"I knew we'd all get along," Bull calls out, with a hint of his former self. The tension isn't battle-fog, but the thickness in the air between the three of them means he'll need to keep his wits about him. That – the constant, low-level threat – might either be a blessing or a torture, sweet and drawn out. 

"We've got a long trek ahead of us, so it's nice to see there's going to be sparkling conversation." Sparkling. Incandescent. _Gaatlok_. "Everyone happy?" 

"Euphoric," Dorian replies, even _more_ dryly. "Aren't you at least going to tell me your names? Otherwise I'm going to start calling you Grumpy and Growly, and I can't help but feel you won't like that…"

"Which one am I?" The Qunari tilts his head, eyes glittering. "Because, there's so many better names for me. And I'd say they both fit you, better. Or maybe you should be Gobby?" 

Dorian rolls his eyes. "Oh goodie, now we're a set. And for the record, you'd be Growly. I thought you'd like that, and your templar friend seems possessed of a permanent scowl."

"Only around your kind," Padraig retorts. "Now sit still and shut up, or I _will_ find something to keep you quiet."

" _Charming_ ," is all Dorian says to this.

Bull pushes his shoulder (or, more accurately, a section of his bicep) into Padraig's, a little on the heavy side, to remind him who is the muscle around here. And who was essential. "Come on, Ser Grumpy. You're upsetting our new friend. Seeing as he'll be responsible for your nest egg, the least you can do is be nice."

Padraig scowls at this but nods begrudgingly, though he seems on the brink of saying 'I will if he will'. Or something worse. "Let's get moving," he actually says, instead. "We have a lot of ground to cover, and I am in no hurry to prolong the experience."

"Really?" Dorian remarks, because he simply cannot stop himself. "And I thought we were getting along so well."

"Gobby, that goes for you, too." Bull rolls his singular eye. "Let's all walk off the adrenaline. Before we do something someone regrets." He takes hold of the rope attached to the horse's reins, and starts to walk. He doesn't tug until he's at almost full extension, and then walks slow enough for the horse to trot alongside, with the rope slightly slack and a small distance between them. 

Dorian scowls, and this time manages not to say anything out loud. His eyes, on the other hand, say plenty.

And none of it is good.


	2. Chapter 2

The next couple of hours pass at an agonising pace.

Actually, everything about them is agonising. The silence is agonising. The atmosphere is agonising. The damn horse is agonising (or near enough. And was it this uncomfortable _before_ he sold it?)

The sun is sinking lower and lower, and Dorian knows they'll have to stop soon. And whilst that in itself isn't going to be fun, it also presents an opportunity. The wretched templar _has_ to sleep at some point, and when he does, Dorian might just be able to tip this back in his favour.

Or make it a lot worse. But what is life without a little risk?

"We need to find a place to camp," Padraig says to Bull. "Somewhere off the road, out of sight."

"Been aiming for that old mill by the stream we passed coming the other way," Bull replies. "It's clear enough. Sturdy structure, too." 

Padraig nods approvingly. "Good plan. Should be secure enough, and it gives us some shelter if the weather turns."

And a building strong enough to restrain a mage, Bull adds, but only mentally. "Shouldn't be much further." He knows precisely how far, but it pays to let people very slightly underestimate you.

When the templar falls back again to focus, Bull glances up at the slightly-pruned-up face of their captive. 

"Qunari don't have _names_ like you Vints do. More like… titles. Like your Arl of this, or Bann of that." He cocks his head to one side. "Or do they not teach you that much in Tevinter?"

"I merely presumed you were Tal-Vashoth, so might have chosen something more unique to distinguish yourself," Dorian says, coolly. "Though if that is what you wish to be called, far be it from me to tell you otherwise."

He might not get a name out of this, but the other man's reaction will at least tell him _something_. And that's got to be better than nothing.

"We have _nicknames_ , though." So he does know more than the average Vint. "And around here, I'm known as the Iron Bull." 

Which neither confirms, nor denies. And the answer is more complicated than it should be, anyway. 

"I know yours." He shrugs. "But I choose when I give mine out." 

" _The Iron Bull_ ," Dorian repeats. "Subtle! I like it. And what about you, dear templar?"

"Ser Padraig Harland," the man himself deigns to reply, in a tone that very much suggests the 'Ser' isn't optional. "Of the Kirkwall Chapter."

"Wonderful!" Dorian exclaims, though of course this news is _anything_ but wonderful. "A Tal-Vashoth and the former underling of a lunatic! I really do have the _best_ travelling companions."

"I didn't say I was Tal-Vashoth." Bull didn't. And now he's bristling, when he really shouldn't. It's his cover, after all. "Although, a Tevinter altus, son of a magister, on foot in the south and with a bounty on his head from his homeland… that sounds fairly subversive and non-compliant to me." 

Maybe he shouldn't have been friendly. 

Now it's Dorian's turn to bristle, though more with concern than anything else. "It's a long story. And I've never been the compliant type."

And clearly it's one thing he _doesn't_ want to talk about.

"Evidently. As I said: five hundred." Bull turns his head back to the road. "You pissed someone off royally. And you _really_ don't know how to cover your tracks. I could have found you half-deaf as well as half-blind."

He twirls the loose rope around his finger, then uncoils it. "So, you didn't think they'd come after you? Or you just never been this far south before?" 

"Both," Dorian replies. "I figured I wasn't worth the trouble. Evidently I was wrong."

" _Very_ wrong," Ser Padraig points out. "You should just be thankful they want you alive. Otherwise this would have been over by now."

Dorian is well-aware of this fact, and does not want to think about what would have happened in the interim had that been the case. It's clear they really _do_ need him alive, though, which means he's got a little leeway when it comes to taking risks.

And a little leeway is all he's ever needed.

"Well, it can't have been blood magic." The Iron Bull tugs his lower lip in with his teeth. "Sleeping with someone's daughter? Or son? Or… did you forget to pay your library fees?" 

"The latter two. Definitely." Dorian is not telling him the truth. Except technically he is, though it isn't why they've been sent after him.

…probably. There are some archivists who'd kill for less. Though that's beside the point.

"Was it a good book? Forbidden sex magics, or just damn good cookie recipes?" Both are good. Not worth being whatever the Vint equivalent of Tal-Vashoth is, but still good. 

"Which would you prefer?" Dorian asks, because he can, and because this is the most conversation he's had all day. "That I was a deviant, or a gourmand? I must admit, I do have a sweet tooth, though I prefer a good wine any day."

"Why not both? If you're eating all those calories, you need to burn them off somehow. You don't look like a gust of wind would blow you over, but I've seen more conditioned fighters. Mages usually rely too much on their magic to train in other disciplines." 

Now Bull wants cookies. Big, chunky ones. With chocolate chunks. Chunks, not chips. His belly rumbles at the memory. When was the last time he had some? He's going to need to make a stop after this is all over. 

Dorian smiles. "Why not both indeed? I _did_ offer you a roll in the hay in return for my freedom. The offer still stands, by the way. I know all _kinds_ of forbidden sex magics…"

He really is incorrigible, isn't he? "Tempting… but I can buy a whole hell of a lot more with the money. And I like my manhood intact, thanks." Bull suppresses a shudder at any thought of what an irate mage could do if he wanted to. 

He does, however, squint. "So, you like big, burly, horny, enemies-of-your-state guys, huh? Is that what they kicked you out for? You let a Tal-Vashoth lift your dress up?" 

"Ah, but my dear The Iron Bull, it's about _quality_ , not _quantity_ ," Dorian points out, with a look that is all open flirting. "And I would hardly emasculate you in the process. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'd even let you top, if you like. I'm guessing you're the sort."

He ignores the rest, partly because it's a _robe_ , not a _dress_ , and partly because it's absurd. Obviously absurd. He likes men of _intelligence_ and _refinement_ , with a taste for the better things in life. Not… not rough-around-the-edges barbarians who abduct you from the roadside and carry you off to ravish in the…

…OK, no; focus, Dorian.

He's pretty, Bull will give him that. And confident, in a 'not quite confident enough but if I say it loudly it'll convince you' kind of a way. Daddy issues, almost certainly. And he's afraid for his life, but the main resort he returns to is prostitution? 

What the hell is his deal, anyway?

(He did remember the article. Bull feels good about that.)

"I'm the sort to enjoy myself. You like to think of me like that, though, don't you? Maybe that is what you ran away for…" He walks closer to the horse. "The minute you were cut loose, you'd set shit on fire and run." Closer, and not far off eye-level, even still on foot.

"Maybe you want that. Want to be run down. Maybe you put this bounty out on your own head, to get your rocks off in some twisted, Vint way. You got a wife at home you don't love? Or is she in on it, for the family name? Lets you run around and play out your fantasies, experience what you think is _bad_ and _wrong_ , so you can go back to your fancy life with a spring in your step?" 

Dorian gives him an arch look. "Now you're way off the mark. I'm not married. I refused, as it happens." No reason not to tell him that, especially if it's Dorian's own father who's put them up to this. Which he's still hoping is the case, and that says a lot about the alternatives. "And I didn't come here to play around. I just know a good opportunity when I see one. And this is–"

" _This_ ," Ser Padraig cuts across, his expression downright venomous, "is a good _opportunity_ for you to shut up. Otherwise, by the Maker, I _will_ enforce the matter."

Refused. Interesting. And it certainly tickled at the edges of something. Vints are all about their bloody… blood. Qunari are, too, but only the Tamassarans know whose blood goes where. Better that way.

Bull also knows the man wouldn't flaunt his sexuality and non-conformity so much if it wasn't a cornerstone in some way. All interesting. And Ser Padraig probably needs to get laid more than any of them. 

" _Taarsidath-an halsaam._ " There's the mill. "Play nice. I'm going to check the building is empty and secure." Bull hefts his weapon, and tosses the rope to Padraig, striding off with a spring in his own step. 

Dorian knows a little Qunlat, and he can't help a slight snicker in response. It makes Padraig look at him like he's planning to chop bits of him off – which is far from the worst he can do – but somehow it's still worth it.

"He doesn't like you, you know," Dorian says to the templar, once they're alone. "He's just working with you because it gets him what he wants." Or some of what he wants? Dorian isn't certain yet, but it's obvious which of his captors is interesting and which is a dangerous maniac.

OK, they're both dangerous, but one seemingly has standards. And the other blatantly does not.

"We don't have to be friends to get this job done," Padraig throws back. "Merely allies. Which we _are_ , so you can keep that seditious tongue of yours behind your teeth."

"Touchy, aren't we? You really should loosen up a little. Before you sprain something."

That clearly snaps something in the templar's mind, because he yanks Dorian down from the horse with not a drop of decorum and then slams him bodily into the nearest tree. One hand holds him in place, and the other goes to yank a slender dagger from its scabbard, the blade against Dorian's neck in a heartbeat.

The world shrinks. And he can _feel_ the void where the magic should be.

"We had ways of dealing with mages like you, back in Kirkwall," Padraig growls. "So I will warn you one last time to shut up, or I'll make you wish you had."

"Point taken," Dorian manages, trying not to let the fear show in his eyes. Or how much he wishes the damn Qunari would hurry back.

The templar wants the mage alive for the bounty, so Bull is reasonably sure he can leave them alone for a few minutes. He checks the old building (mostly nug droppings and a few coppers, and the odd scrap of vellum), then sees the silhouette of the pair of them…

Fuck's sake. It's been a few minutes. Padraig really does need to get laid, or maybe his head smacked in. No wonder Kirkwall blew up, if that's what they were all like. He's heard _stories_. From his own people, and from the _bas_. No Seheron, to be sure, but still not nice.

Bull huffs, his chest amplifying his call. " _Harland_. Walk it off. You've been working all day. Go get the campfire sorted, I'll handle the mage from here." 

Padraig gives Dorian a very long, very unpleasant look, but he does back off; re-sheathing his dagger with a snap. "Remember what I said," he growls, low enough that Bull won't hear the words, and then stalks off in the direction of a decent source of firewood.

Only once he's moved away does Dorian step out from the tree, and in lieu of giving himself a good brush down – because his hands are still bound – he instead looks over at Bull. " _Thank_ you for that," he says, pointedly. "Some people have no manners."

"Do you _want_ to die?" Bull still looks annoyed, and he's the one stepping too close. He doesn't wield a weapon, though: he doesn't need to. He glares down at the shorter man, well aware that both his height and build are enough to make most buckle, or think again. 

"Can't you tell what he's interested in? Are you so used to getting away with shit that you think it flies down here, or do you _really_ hate yourself that much?" 

Idiot. Bull doesn't move away. Not straight off. 

"He's been suppressing you all day, and he fucking hates you to begin with. You give him an excuse, and you get handed over alive, but maybe you weigh a bit less and you don't need a full set of fingers on your gloves. _Cool it_."

 _Kaffas_ , the guy is tall. Dorian himself isn't short for a human, but Bull… he'd block the sun even at noon.

"I know precisely what he's interested in," he replies. "I also know that the more emotional he gets, the harder it is for him to suppress my magic. The trick is getting his concentration to slip before his anger does. And then… _whoomf_. Templar barbecue. And my problems go from two to one."

Why he decides it's a good idea to share this with the Qunari, Dorian isn't sure. Maybe it's because he doesn't want the other man to think him a suicidal idiot… although why he cares what the man thinks of him at all is a question of its own.

"He's from _Starkhaven_ , and he openly admits to having worked in Kirkwall. You are _not_ making a good judgement call right now." Bull throws his head back, silently imploring the sky for strength.

This was supposed to be a good job. A rough one. A good fight. It was supposed to be some asshole mage, who he could legitimately hate. Maybe some deep bruising, and some blunt force trauma to knock some sense back into him. Then he could move on.

But no. Damn idiot had to be all… not-normal-Vint-y and…

"There's more ways than templars to keep mages in check." He slowly drops his head back to glare down at the shorter man. "Which I am going to have to do anyway, as he needs a rest, and he can't stay conscious forever. What I'm going to do isn't pleasant, and the more you fight back, the worse it will be. But if you at least _try_ to not piss in his porridge, I can make it as painless as possible." 

The distaste on Dorian's face is hard to miss. As is the renewed concern. "…You're going to drug me, aren't you? I'd really rather you didn't. Suppose I absolutely _promise_ not to try setting either of you on fire during hours of darkness? Alternatively, you could ply me with a _lot_ of alcohol. That will knock me out for _ages_."

There's a plaintive tone in his voice now. He hates himself for it.

"You literally just told me you were planning on setting _him_ on fire." Bull hates reasonable ones, or – well – reasonably sincere ones. Damn mage can't just be a total ass? "I can _mix_ it with alcohol. Might taste a bit less shit, and feel a bit…"

What's he saying? He's probably not able to find anything _like_ a decent middle-ground. "It might taste less shit. And might need a bit less. But I don't think you'll enjoy the process."

And then, then there's something dark and hot-metal and weird in his mouth, in his belly. "I won't let him hurt you, if you work with me. I know it's a fucking shit choice. But whoever wants you back wants you alive. And unless what they're going to do to you is worse than being dead… it's the best offer you'll get." 

Given that Dorian isn't sure who is paying them to come after him, this is hard to weigh up. It might be worse than death. It might not.

But he knows he's not fighting his way out of this. Without his magic, either one of his captors would have the upper hand, and if he co-operates, he'll at least maintain _some_ semblance of dignity.

And perhaps earn points with the damn Qunari. It's a long way back to Tevinter, after all; assuming that's where they're taking him. Plenty of other opportunities to turn the tables.

He can practically hear Alexius' voice in his head. _Don't be so hot-headed, Dorian! Play the long game. You're more than smart enough if you just resist the urge to show your hand all at once._

The man had been right that time, damn him. And painfully, he'd be right this time too.

"…Fine," Dorian concedes, almost quietly. "But if he so much as _touches_ me in the night, you will lose _every_ shred of goodwill from me for the rest of this trip."

"He touches you, you scream, I cut his hand off," Bull counters. "Sound fair?"

"I reserve the right to remain angry at you for as long as I see fit," Dorian says. "But otherwise… yes."

"Step forwards," Bull says, and waits for him to do so. Unties his hands from behind his back, then holds the metal cuffs in front, waiting for him to move to allow them to be replaced. "You can take a piss now, if you want, then I'll take you to the mill. We'll eat, and if you continue to cooperate, I'll let you stay like this…" he indicates the slightly more favourable position. 

"Then I'll give you the… dose. It's gonna take some time to work out what you need. You…" He pauses. "You prefer to be out cold, or just… groggy? It won't be pleasant to be conscious, but you might not want to go out totally." 

That isn't an easy question for Dorian to answer. If you're still conscious, you know what's happening to you. On the other hand, if you're still conscious _you know what's happening to you_.

On the _other_ other hand, if you're still conscious and you pretend to be _less_ conscious, maybe you can attempt some magic whilst the nice templar is asleep. Or just flat-out run for it and hope for the best.

"Conscious," he answers. "You'll forgive me for not trusting _either_ of you not to take advantage of me if I'm completely knocked-out."

And that _is_ true, so he's not lying. Just… not showing all his cards at once.

"You can change your mind, later, if you want to. I'm not…" Fuck. Bull, stop it. He's a damn bounty. He's a Vint. Blood magic and murder and shit. Enemy. Mark.

But he's not – Bull isn't like --

"C'mon. I need to eat. You need to water the flowers or you ready?" 

Dorian sighs. "I'll take the opportunity whilst I have it. But you'd better not look."

***

It isn't too much longer before night falls, and the darkness sets in rapidly. Inside the mostly-intact ruin of the mill, they sit in the light of the campfire – made close to a section of missing roof, for the smoke – but talk little.

This is mostly because Dorian is trying not to panic. When he panics, one of two things will happen: either he talks incessantly, or he talks hardly at all. The upside of this is that it makes it slightly more challenging for people to work out what's going on, even if they know him. The _downside_ is that he has nothing to stop him sinking inside his own head.

And he's always rather preferred to be _out_ of that. Especially in the dark.

Removed from the road, it's highly unlikely anyone will spot them out here, even if someone does pass by. There's no sound but the distant chirrup of some kind of nocturnal creature, and the water from the little stream burbling over rocks as it wends its way slowly but surely towards the distant sea.

And the occasional whinny of that useless, treacherous horse.

The food doesn't help as much as it should, either, though it is good to know that his captors aren't planning to starve him completely. They're definitely missing a bottle or two of something, though.

When the meal is over, Bull stretches, creaking out the day's insults on his bones, cracking his neck and rumbling in low appreciation. It's not fine dining, but it's solid, working-creature food. And it feels good in his belly. 

He watches Padraig start to rise – and he knows he wants to do the dosing – but shakes his head. "This is where I'm more experienced," he reminds the templar. 

And more level-handed, and headed. 

Bull grabs the wineskin he always keeps, which is a decent size for even a Qunari. Red wine, doesn't mind the heat. Nothing fancy, but with enough of a kick to cover the worst of the taste. He's also kept the small, glowing vial of _qamek_ on his person, for a very good reason.

Just a drop should be enough. He eyes the mage again, assessing his constitution, weight, probable liver damage… yeah. A drop. He doesn't want to break his mind utterly. 

He pours a generous dose of the wine into one of the cups, then drops a small amount into the liquid. You can always add more, but you can't take it away, is his reasoning. When he's ready, he drops to one knee beside the man sitting next to one of the bedrolls, ready. 

"This is gonna hurt," he warns him, and one arm wraps around his upper body to stop any flailing as he lifts the glass to his lips. "Drink it all. I'll make sure you don't bang your head."

That is… closer than Dorian expected the other man to get. Why he's thinking that at a time like _this_ , he doesn't know, but the mind does strange things under stress. And when too sober.

"I bet you say that to all the boys," he manages, but his voice is far more fearful than it is flirtatious. He doesn't know for certain what Bull is giving him, but he's smart enough to have a pretty good idea. "You… don't have to do this, you know."

Oh, right. Yes. Get all pathetic. Because _that's_ going to endear you to the man who kills people for a living, and his lunatic templar friend.

"Yeah. I do." He's already made it as palatable – and risk-reduced – as he possibly can. Padraig has to be convinced he's under enough, and so does Bull. He presses it closer, near his lips but not touching, waiting for him to be ready, first. 

Just because he's drugging him, he doesn't need to be a dick. "Pretend it's fancy Vint shit. Open wide, swallow it down… bet you've had worse hangovers…" Closer, until he's by his mouth, tilting slightly to get him with the program. 

Bull knows what _qamek_ can do. And he's not going to fuck around. 

"…If I die, I shall petition the Maker to let me come back and haunt you for the rest of your life," Dorian says. " _Both_ of you," he adds, because Padraig has _far_ too much pleasure in his eyes right now.

And… Dorian just drinks. And drinks. And tries to focus on the taste of the wine, and not on the taste of the _other_ thing, and…

… _fenhedis_ …

He just about manages not to choke before he screams, and he'd be wondering how it could possibly hurt _that_ much, if he was capable of any kind of coherent thought at all. It's a good thing Bull still has hold of him, because it helps with the thrashing that follows seconds later, and in the middle of it all Dorian manages to grab Bull's shoulder with his still-bound hands.

" _Please_ ," he gasps, though whether he's begging for mercy, for death, or for something else entirely, even he doesn't know right now.

" _Vashedan_ , you stubborn ass." Be easier if he'd said 'out' before. Bull grabs the wineskin, and pushes that to his mouth, tilting his head back and pouring it in past the spluttering. "Drink. It'll wash your mouth out, maybe knock you out." 

This is just fucking wrong. Bull wonders where the nearest fucking templar who isn't Padraig is. Maybe they could tag-team it, or something? They could split three ways. Hell, he'd give half his damn share rather than do this night on end. It's just… not right. 

The wine does help a little, but it's like throwing a cup of water on a forest fire, and it's a good couple of moments before the worst of the thrashing passes and Dorian drops limp in Bull's grip; still conscious but obviously not entirely here.

It's like floating in fog. Made of knives. Which are on fire.

"I could take over this part tomorrow night, if it makes you uncomfortable," Padraig says to Bull, in what is clearly meant to be an offhand tone.

"No." Bull's voice is rough, and sure. "You've done enough. And unless you've been taking the antidote to this stuff, you risk killing yourself in the process, anyway." 

True enough, but it doesn't hurt to give the templar a reason to listen to him, does it? "You can take the first rest. I'll wake you when I need to." 

The fucking mage is slack-jawed and glistening with an unpleasant sheen of sweat. Is that what they look like when--

He eases Dorian down onto the bedroll, propping his head up and putting him on his side in case he vomits. The blanket he puts over him is likely scratchy by his damn standards, but it's better than hypothermia, and he's not going to all this trouble to keep him alive and _sane_ to have him drop dead from the fucking southern chill.

Even his moustache is messed up from the flailing. Red wine stains around his mouth from the sloppy drinking, and Bull uses the back of his hand to wipe the worst of it off while it's still wet. Man deserves some dignity, after all, and it's what Bull would want someone to do for him. 

He then positions himself firmly between the two humans, close enough to get into proximity of anything… he needs to… but not so close that either can reach him without him first working out what they intend to do. "It won't be as bad tomorrow." Not if Bull uses less. If Dorian has any fucking sense, when he does that, he won't take advantage of it. Or no advantage unless he really does have a chance. Bull does _not_ want to have to escalate things, but he will. 

"As you wish," Padraig answers, mildly enough. "Wake me when you're ready to switch."

He's already out of his armour, and he starts laying out his own bedroll, preparing for the night. The templar is silent for a moment whilst he does so, and then he looks back at Bull.

"You should try not to get too attached to him," he says, headtilting towards the mage. "It's easier if you maintain a certain distance."

"I'm not attached. I just don't want to hold his dick for him when he pisses, or wipe his arse if he shits himself because we use too much." Both of which could be very, very real possibilities. 

Madness, death. If you did survive, you weren't anything like you were before. Bull remembers being told all he needed to know about the poison. How it could be applied to a blade, or made into an airborne weapon. Remembers the briefings, and the examples. 

It makes his skin itch coldly, and he resolutely doesn't look at the half-conscious, shaking wreck. 

"We should get another one. Of you. Don't need to give them a huge cut, but it would reduce the risk. Keep him docile without risking killing him." 

"Now that we're at war with the mages, our forces are spread very thin," Padraig replies. "I was all that could be spared for this mission. After all, had there been two or more of us, I wouldn't have needed to hire you for assistance."

He glances over at Dorian again, eyes dispassionate. "He'll become more compliant now he knows what the stakes are. Mages understand overwhelming force, the same as anyone else. That being said… this one is particularly troublesome, so we should still be cautious."

"Won't need as strong a dose tomorrow." It's clearly a non-starter, so Bull drops it for now. "The first dose is a huge shock to the system. It shouldn't be as bad the second time."

Especially not if Bull just gets the man drunk to sleep it all off. It'll be a measured risk, and he'll see how sprightly he is when they make camp tomorrow. "Sleep. I got this." 

Padraig nods. "Very well," he says, and lies down to sleep with his sword at his side, hand resting on the hilt.

On the other side of Bull, Dorian gives a delirious little murmur, curling up tighter; distantly aware of voices but not enough to process them.

Bull does not need to sleep all that much. He knows Dorian is out for the count for tonight, and he has no faith that Padraig would treat him well. But he has to make some form of lip-service to his own sleep needs for Padraig to let it slide… he hunkers down and half-dozes, taking most of the night, and only rousing the templar when he has to.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day is quieter. Bull hasn't had a great night, but he'll survive. The mage is understandably grumpy, but threats from the templar usually curb his tongue. 

They make good progress. The horse shits all over Padraig's shoes. Bull laughs, Dorian laughs, and Padraig does not.

When they finally make camp, Padraig is the one who is tired again, and Bull huffs him off to one side. He fetches a different vessel this time: Antivan Sip-Sip. It's vile, but potent, and he holds it to Dorian's mouth after a sleight of hand with the _qamek_ that he deliberately lets him see. 

After a truly wretched day – that followed an even _more_ wretched night – Dorian is braced for another round of wholly unenjoyable agony. So when he realises that Bull _isn't_ dosing him, it sets off a complex little swarm of emotion inside his head.

Surprise. Relief. And… gratitude?

He may be less than his (usually significant) best, but he's still smart enough not to let on in front of the wretched templar, and accepts the cup with a show of displeasure, followed by a series of pained noises that really are quite convincing (if he says so himself).

It's evidently enough to satisfy Padraig, and it isn't long before the templar is lying down to sleep once more. Dorian waits until he hears the man's breathing shift, and then sits up a little, looking over at Bull with a cautious expression.

"That… was good of you. Why did you do it?"

He's vaguely aware – through the initial kick of alcohol mixed with the considerable all-day exhaustion – that he's now free to use magic again, and that he might even be able to try running for it if he's careful. He's _also_ aware that he might collapse in a ditch after no more than a few seconds, given how heavy his whole body feels.

And there's the part where the damn Qunari still has quite a lot of alcohol left. Which he might be inclined to share.

"You're in no fit state to make any real escape attempt," Bull answers, his gaze steady and his expression utterly unreadable. "And if you did, I would easily be able to stop you, even without the templar."

Who he's sure is asleep, or he wouldn't have answered. 

"I don't want to kill you, or drive you mad. Just… insurance policy. And you won't answer all my questions while he's awake, will you?" Not if he has any sense, that is. "So. Alcohol should be enough to convince me you're manageable. Win, win." 

Bull takes a swig from the bottle, wipes the rim, and leans forward to offer it. "Sound fair?" 

Dorian gives a little nod, without looking away from the other man's eye. Still trying to work out precisely what Bull's game is – beyond the obvious – because there's clearly more to this than he thought at first. Of course, he doubts Bull is going to be forthcoming… but maybe he'll reveal a snippet or two once they're further down the bottle.

"Sounds fair," Dorian agrees, taking the bottle and allowing himself a long swig to seal the deal. And _oh_ , but that's good. Rough as the Void, but good. "So what do you want to know? I'm a _highly_ fascinating individual, after all. You'll need to narrow it down."

"Who is after you, why, and whether or not I should let them have you." No point in beating around the bush, is there? It's what Bull wants to know. If he should be doing this at all. 

It would take a lot more for Bull to feel the effects, but it's polite to share, and it also helps the other party let their guard down if they suspect you may be inebriated, too. 

"Money does motivate me. And I – as a rule – dislike Vints. But you're a Vint hunted by Vints, which means I might actually be neutral." And Padraig isn't right in the head, though he won't say that. "I'm not saying I'll decide anything tonight. I'm saying: if you want to give me your side of the story, I'll consider it." 

Some part of Dorian is confident he shouldn't tell the other man anything. But another part – a larger part – wonders what the harm really could be. If Bull doesn't know who's after him, it means Padraig is deliberately keeping him in the dark. And that's a clear weakness in their already tenuous relationship.

Plus, Dorian _likes_ talking about himself. And sitting on a horse all day with the world's worst drug-hangover is enough to make anyone inclined to share.

This is probably the point too. Ah well.

"In truth, I'm not certain," he starts out. "Not because I think I have no enemies – imagine! – but because I have too many. There are three most likely possibilities, but there could always be an invisible fourth option that even I have missed. Tevinter politics can get a little… _complex_ at times."

He takes another draught from the bottle before handing it back.

"The most likely candidate is my father. I think I told you he's a magister? We've never truly gotten on, but things have been rather more heated ever since I came of age. Like all altus families, mine is obsessed with good breeding. Passing on the magic. Securing a strong, legitimate heir. The usual."

Now Dorian looks down. It's so easy to flaunt his sexuality in the right company, but it doesn't stop it from hurting when he talks about what his family think. What his _father_ thinks.

"…And I made it clear that wasn't going to work. I prefer the company of men. Which rather puts a stop to the whole 'strong, legitimate heir' thing."

Bull listens, his expression still blank, but not judging. It is an entirely different society, he knows, and it's not like this is the worst thing he's ever heard coming out of Tevinter. (No pun intended.) 

"Is he the type to send templars – southern templars – after you?" 

"Ordinarily, I would have said not," Dorian replies. "But I've been blamed for bringing so much scandal upon my family that I can certainly believe he would outsource a retrieval operation, if he thought it could be done without anyone in Tevinter knowing. That way he could drag me off again. Lock me up again."

Only now does Dorian look up, and the pain in his eyes is very real. "He's one of the reasons I left Tevinter in the first place. Being away from him is easier than being around him."

"Tal-Vashoth," Bull murmurs. True Grey Ones. Unable to follow the Qun any longer, and unable to stay. For whatever reason. Dorian is Tal-Vashoth, in his own way. 

He also notes the 'lock me up again'. Bull has never had a family, but if he had, he's pretty sure they wouldn't lock him up. Even if he'd been perverse enough to attempt a – well, the equivalent would be any relationship. They'd have sent him for reconditioning.

 _Qamek_.

"That's the first one. The others?" 

Dorian sits back with a sigh, if only because it means he doesn't have to see the whatever-it-is that isn't outright hatred in Bull's eye. Because it's confusing.

"I shouldn't be telling you any of this," he says. "Even if I did think it would change your mind, which I realise it probably won't. But right now, I can't see what more I have to lose."

He nods over at the bottle. "Let me have some more of that. Then you get to hear the next part."

No reason not to push his luck a little. Not if decent Antivan gutrot is involved.

"I'm the only thing standing between you and whatever it is Andraste's finest shit has in mind for you," the Qunari points out. "And as much as it might be interesting to go into a bidding war over your pretty little head, I signed on for this for something much simpler, and faster."

Bull hands the bottle back. Truth be told, this is probably the longest conversation he's had that wasn't a direct contracting in… some time.

He wonders how Krem and the kids are. But he can't know. Not until he's fit to be around them again. 

"Plus, you may be one of the most fucked-up targets I've ever been given, and I've been given _a lot_." 

Despite everything, Dorian gives the slightest little laugh. It's wry, but it's real. "I'll take that as a compliment. And you think my head is pretty? Interesting…"

He's got the bottle now, which means he can drink from it, and It's a few seconds before he comes up for air.

"…That really helps," he remarks, apropos of nothing.

"With what?" The mage is still flirting with him, even when Bull's made it (to himself, at least) clear that he isn't the type to bang a prisoner. Maybe it's an automatic reaction.

Maybe it's to prevent any women from getting broken hearted, and maximise his chances of finding _someone_ amenable? Hmm. 

"I usually prefer red-heads, but I'm not inflexible." Damnit. Clear. Not bang. Prisoner. "But go on." 

That makes Dorian's eyebrows go up. He has different types of flirting for every occasion, but this kind of _aggressive_ flirting is really only supposed to be a defense mechanism. Obviously. Not him actually trying to incite his large, powerful captor to…

…OK, no, not going there.

"I am," he hears himself say, which is definitely the alcohol's fault. Yes. "Very flexible. Where was I..? Oh yes, the list of people who wish me ill…"

He pauses. Stares at the bottle. Either he's even more susceptible to it than usual (which would make sense, given the exhaustion), or the Qunari has drugged it with some other bizarre substance. Something to make him more suggestible. Maybe so later he can take advantage of…

…Dorian, _no_.

"…So the second and third options are connected," he goes on, as if the previous exchange didn't happen, and the thoughts accompanying it _definitely_ didn't happen. "I think." A beat. "I'm sure." Another beat. "Reasonably sure. Though they're still two different options for reasons I'll get to."

Another pause. Longer this time. Maybe more alcohol will help?

He drinks some. It does.

"For someone so fond of hearing his own voice, you are very afraid of putting actual words behind it." The Qunari nudges a boot to another. "Worse than your own family thinking you're some kind of… pervert? For what gets you turned on? 'Least the Qun just let you at it." 

"Yes," Dorian says, flatly; or what counts as flatly when you are very, very drunk. "At least that's just personal. No one else gets hurt, except for the harpy they tried to wed me to. But this…"

Maybe he'd better just say it.

"…so, there's this group operating in Tevinter of late. I say 'group', but… cult. It's a cult. They call themselves the Venatori. And whilst I'm not entirely certain of everything they're involved in, it's clearly leading to something big. I've been looking into it; trying to work out where this is heading, but I don't have the whole story yet and I think some of them might have realised I'm onto them. So they could also be the ones who are after me."

And if that's true, them wanting him _alive_ is even more of a concern.

"Huh." He'd always known the Vints were a fractured lot, but to be considered a 'cult' by one of their own? "This is two and three. So… what did you find out that they want you so badly for? And why were you going further south?"

"It's two," Dorian clarifies. "Three is…"

Three hurts in a different way.

"…I think my former mentor may have joined them. Another magister named Gereon Alexius. We used to be very close but we've… drifted in recent years… and he doesn't talk to me anymore. But I have reason to believe he's working with them. One of their senior members, in fact, given his position in the Magisterium."

A sigh. Some more alcohol.

"He's the reason I was heading south. I'm trying to track him down, to stop him from doing something interminably stupid. This group, the Venatori, they…"

Oh, just say it. He might not be certain, but he's pretty sure, or he wouldn't have come all this way.

"…They seem to have started worshipping one of the Magisters Sidereal. The leader, in fact, who led the others into the Golden City and turned it Black. Corypheus. They seem to be under the impression that he can be resurrected… or _has_ been resurrected, that part I'm less sure on…"

Okay. Bull leans over, hand out for the booze. There's shit, and then there's _shit_. Like, bad shit. Which is why he uses this word, and then several others, including an invocation to the private parts of a very ugly beast of burden.

He takes a long, long swig. It's making a faint buzz in his head, now, and nothing more. Mostly because he suddenly feels numb, and cold. 

Fucking. VINTS. With their fucking magic. And their damned demons. And their damned BLIGHTS.

He no longer looks quite so impartial, or unreadable. "This? This is why people hate you. Mages. Vints… both. Do they not _know_ what the fuck they are playing with? Shitting death fuck of a… are you telling me the truth, Dorian?" 

The sudden shift in the mood takes Dorian by surprise, mostly because he's used to his own resigned view of the situation and drunk enough to forget how he reacted when _he_ first learned about all this.

And he's weirdly hurt by the hostility, even though it's entirely justified. And they're enemies anyway, so why would he…

There should be more alcohol, but Bull has the bottle, so Dorian just stares at it as if hoping to will it back into his own hands.

"I'm too drunk to make up something like that," he answers. "And I wouldn't be this far from home if it was anything less serious."

"Did they not learn the last time? Well, evidently not, or we wouldn't be having this conversation." Bull drops his face into three fingers of one hand, rubbing over his nose and mouth. He can't sense any reason why the other man would lie about that. 

It's the kind of damn fool thing that the Qun are trying to stop, after all. The kind of damn fool thing the Ben-Hassrath would want him to report on immediately. Give him fucking orders. Back into the old groove.

He downs the rest of the bottle, and flings it – hard – against a nearby tree.

Thankfully, the templar only mumbles and then rolls back over.

"I wish I'd never asked," is what he says. Can't even get a damn good fight to burn his frustration out. Maybe he should have just rage-fucked a Vint mage and then gone back to his Chargers, and been merrily ignorant of it all. Too late now. 

"I know," Dorian replies, a mixture of resigned and sullen. "But you did. And now we need more to drink. If you keep drinking, eventually you stop thinking about it for a while. Especially if you find other things to distract you."

He stares at Bull. The world is a little hazy round the edges, but Dorian _does_ have a high tolerance for alcohol, so he is at least still upright, if swaying slightly.

" _I_ could distract you. Except I'm probably too drunk to run for it, so it wouldn't be a good diversion and then there would be whatever happens after, and… shit, this is out loud, isn't it..?"

"You've had too much." Much too much. And Bull has not had enough. Nowhere near enough. "Don't run. Not yet." 

Bull has to think about this. Think about a lot of this. Like… all of it. At once. And his head can't do that, because it's too big to get sight of it all. Normally, he can section things off. He can slice things into constituent parts, or he can compartmentalise until it can re-integrate.

But this… is… bigger. And the kind of thing you expect the Triumvirate to worry about. Not some fucking Hissrad. 

Shit. When was the last time he thought of himself as that? He can't remember, and it feels odd in his mind. He rubs the heel of his palm over one horn, grunting unhappily. 

"Even my people would want to – well, if not help you, at least take over." Shitting. Fucking. Demon monster Magister son of a… "You should sleep. It's gonna take you time to get over the _qamek_. There's an antidote, but it's preventative, not after the event. Don't think giving it to you before you're at full strength would do you any good." 

Dorian looks at him suspiciously. And hazily. "Whose side are you even on?" he slurs, the alcohol catching up with him faster and faster. "And why're you so _tall_..?"

And he sort of flops sideways onto his bedroll, curling up somewhat. "Should've stayed at the tavern," he murmurs. "Warmer. Nicer. Safer…"

"You and me both." Lots of things he'd change, if he could do them over. Like tonight. Bull shakes his head, and wishes there was someone he could get to hit him with some sticks.

He could really use that, right about now. 

As for whose side he's on… it's a question he asks himself, regularly. So far, the answer changes too often to hold any weight at all.

Keeper of Illusions indeed. Bull stretches into the tree trunk, and settles into an uneasy sleep. 

***

Even the sleep Bull did get was not great. The kind of sleep you have when you know it's dangerous to be unconscious, and when your mind is processing too much. The kind of sleep you get the eve of a big battle.

When Harland wakes him, it takes all his self-restraint not to lift his great-axe right to his neck, and follow through.

Templars. They hate mages. Would he even agree to follow a Magister Sidereal, or does he not know?

"He quiet?" the Qunari rumbles, tilting his chin in the other's direction. 

"Barely even moved," Padraig replies, sitting back with his sword on his knee. "At least you get some peace when he's out."

A cant of the head. "You look like you had a rough night. Sounded like it too, a few times."

"War wounds." True in more ways than one. "Sometimes my ankle plays up… have to brace it. Damn thing hurts more when you're not using it, than when you are." 

To highlight it, he lifts his leg to show the leather straps that support the joint. It does give him problems, but he normally ignores them. 

Bull lowers his leg. "This bounty… I've been thinking…"

"Oh?" Padraig says, keeping his expression level in that way he does. The one that gives nothing away. "What about it? We're not going to be able to ask for more coin, if that's what you're getting at."

"Why not? He's the son of a magister. Reckon there'd be others happy to pay a bit more, to overhead back to the first guy… you got some kind of loyalty to them, or something?" 

Bull grabs his boots, pulling them on slowly. "He talks, if you know how to make him. I think there's a lot more to his story. Just saying… it's worth the ask…" 

Padraig shakes his head. "No. No loyalty. It isn't personal. But I do keep my word, and I intend to deliver the mage to the one who sent me after him. And I'm a templar. Going around extorting people for more money gives the Order a bad name."

And then a careful look. "He talks? He never shuts up. Though you mean something more specific, don't you? What did he say to you?"

"Factional shit. He wants us to sell him to the one least likely to flay him alive. You know… you act sympathetic. Wear down their barriers: exhaustion, pain, sleep loss… throw a little extra…" He mimics opening and glugging from a bottle. "Bingo."

Which is what he did, and part of him wishes he wasn't so aware of all his skills and how best to manipulate them. It means every conversation is potentially just another information gathering exercise.

Sometimes, it's tiring.

"Wasn't it another mage – a _magister_ – who set the bounty?"

"It was another Tevinter," is all Padraig will concede. "Beyond that, I'm really not at liberty to say. But if it's simple curiosity you're feeling, don't worry. You'll get to meet the contact too, when the handover takes place."

"Where is that, exactly? You never said the town. It'd help for me to meter out the doses of _qamek_." So easy to trip things off his tongue. So easy to just watch for reactions. 

"Why so many questions?" Padraig now asks, his tone still level, but it's clear he doesn't like being prodded this way. "We're heading in the direction of Tevinter, but we'll reach our destination before we cross the border. So there's no cause for concern in that respect."

"You want me to help, there's a certain amount of sense in disclosing what's relevant to me." Like, a lot more than this. "I might know places to avoid, or go via. I might have connections. Qunari know a lot about Vint shit." Him more than most.

It has told him things, though. Useful things. Very useful, if not conclusive. 

Templars don't take jobs from Tevinters – mage or not – without a damn good reason. Which means there's more to Harland's investment in this than first appeared. "You ready to wake the sleeping prince?" 

"The sleeping prince is already awake, thanks to your yammering," comes a voice from the third bedroll. "And he'd thank you to leave him and his headache alone."

And Dorian turns over, his back to them now, so that his face is hidden. So there's no way for them to guess he's been conscious for longer than they think.

He should never have trusted the Qunari.

Bull snorts in amusement. "The sleeping prince should get his ass up if he wants a wash before we break both fast and camp. Get up… or I'll throw your bath over you." 

"Charming," Dorian drolls, but he's not quick to move all the same.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is very, very long... we'd apologise in advance, but somehow we think you won't mind! ;-)

Another day of travelling – in the wrong direction, as far as Dorian's concerned – brings them closer to the border of the Free Marches, where it skirts the edge of Tevinter. Dorian isn't certain where his templar captor is leading them, but there are a number of settlements before they get too far north.

And any one of them could be their destination. Which makes anticipating how much longer he has to endure this for nigh-on impossible.

The day passes torturously slowly, as they all seem to do now, and before long they're making camp again, close to the edge of a lake that must eventually drain down into the Minanter River.

When Bull moves to fake-drug him again, Dorian doesn't argue, or let on. He's not giving up _that_ advantage. But… he also doesn't want to talk to the damn Qunari. He will, of course, because he's so desperately _bored_ , but he's not playing nice this time.

Not after what he overheard this morning.

Bull doesn't tell Dorian that he's slipped the antidote in this time, because he wants the reaction to the taste (it is not by any means nice) to be as genuine as possible. 

You have to play everything so very carefully, in chess. Especially when you're the board, and everyone else is the pieces. 

"That's it… swallow for me, good boy." Bull coos it slightly condescendingly, wanting Dorian to be annoyed. It has to look good, after all. "I know it comes naturally to you." 

Dorian's glare at this would probably ignite a lesser man. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he throws back, though the effect is lost somewhat in the intermittent choking because _kaffas_ , that stuff is _vile_.

He pushes Bull off as soon as the shaking has subsided enough to allow him the strength to do it, and then sits back, glaring some more.

"I don't need to. I can tell. It's one of my talents." Amongst many, many others. 

And maybe Bull wants to be a bit of an ass, right now. He's feeling pissed off. Again. He hasn't slept properly (flickers of memories of things he wishes he hadn't been able to see), there's a sadistic templar, a mage who other mages want in chains, and now possibly another fucking world-ending thing. Didn't they just survive the Blight?

"You have those kinds of lips, and eyes. The kind of mouth that runs because you're wanting someone to shut it. Don't you?" 

Now Dorian refuses to say anything, which is an achievement in itself, though he looks all kinds of hurt. And… something else even he isn't sure of, but which is probably due to the borderline poisons they keep forcing on him. Probably. Yes.

"I think you touched a nerve there," Padraig remarks, with a hint of cold amusement. "Is this little floorshow going to continue, or shall I turn in?"

"Nah… he's gonna find himself real sleepy, soon. And I only like it when they can fight back." Bull nods further away, to the safer sleeping spot. "Turn in. I got this watch." 

Padraig smirks at that, but he nods. "Very well. Try not to have _too_ much fun without me…"

And over he goes, laying down to sleep and – like a good soldier – dropping off surprisingly fast.

Dorian, meanwhile, sits back with his eyes shut, steadfastly refusing to talk. How long it will last is hard to say, but he has to hope he's at least making a point.

At length, Bull closes his one eye, deliberately. His hearing is good enough and his axe-hand swift enough. Dorian needs to know Bull isn't afraid.

"You're welcome, by the way."

"For what?" Dorian snaps, aware he's taking the bait but not letting this stop him. "For letting you seduce me with all your talk of being reasonable, only to find you're just in this for what you can get out of me?"

"For giving you the antidote, just now. Which should start to build up in your system. It isn't easy to come by, and it's also reasonably important, in your current situation." He lazily opens his eye. "And how do you know I wasn't doing that to him? How do you know I don't do it to everyone? Isn't it – in fact – what you were attempting to do _to me_?"

" _I'm_ the prisoner here," Dorian points out. "Of course it's what I was trying to do to you. I want to _escape_ before you hand me over to someone who _will_ make my life a lot worse than it is right now; which is saying something, by the way. But I foolishly dared to hope that we might be on the same page."

He's being an ass. He knows he's being an ass, but he's exhausted and not even sure which way his head is going, and trying to keep up with the damn Qunari is nigh-on impossible. He lifts his still-bound hands, rubbing over his eyes, desperately wishing he could think straight.

"We're all prisoners. We're all free. It's a meaningless definition… there's slaves treated better than royal blood. There's people born into roles they never asked to play… you could be halfway to foaming at the mouth insane, right now. Or I could let that jerkwad really show you what's in _his_ dreams each night."

Bull leans forwards. "But I haven't. And although I can say I won't, words mean less than deeds. You didn't drink _qamek_. And I found out more about who's behind all this. You really think if I was on your side, that letting him think I was would be a long-term strategy? Think, Big Guy, think. You gotta look beyond simply what people say, and how. You gotta look at _why_." 

"I take your point," Dorian concedes, albeit sullenly. "But at the same time, why _should_ I trust anything you say? You're Qunari. Your people hate mine and I think it's fair to say you're not an exception to that rule. And I know what you do to your mages; to people like me and to people _far_ less dangerous. And _you_ … you pretend to be Tal-Vashoth, but the more I see, the more I doubt it."

"I never said I was Tal-Vashoth. _You_ did." He still hasn't. "And you absolutely should **not** trust a word anyone in this world says, even yourself. It's a headache, but it's the only way to stay safe."

Now he's starting to get it, at least to some level. "I told you before: you stood out like horns on a freaking elf. If you want to survive in the circles you claim you're moving in, you don't do it by selling your horse and wandering around on foot because your daddy doesn't like you sucking dick, and you found out all those nasty rumours about magisters were _right_." 

"What else was I supposed to do?!" Dorian exclaims all at once, only just remembering to keep his voice low enough so as not to wake the damn templar. "My family hate me, my former mentor – who also hates me – has gone bad, and no one else would listen to me when I said that a dangerous cult might be trying to raise a Darkspawn Magister of Old! What would you have me do, sit at home and drink wine until the world ends? Contrary to what you and the rest of Thedas thinks, not all _Vints_ are content to sit back and let everything else go to ruin so long as it doesn't spoil their own view. Some of us want to make a difference!"

And… that was not an outburst he should have allowed himself. But it's done now.

There. That's what Bull was looking for, and he makes a little noise of gruntlement. Yes. Good.

"You make a difference, but you don't get yourself _caught_. All that time in Minrathous made you soft. You want to survive out here, you have to…" Harden. Maybe he should have picked better words. 

Bull nods to where the templar is. "He wouldn't divulge anything unless he thought we were of a similar mindset. Neither would you. And as it looks like you believe what you're saying… if I let you slip this leash, you'd run on further. Someone else would catch up to you. And you'd never know which of them it was until it was too late. You're… smart… but you're not _this_ smart." 

Which Bull is. 

"And you let me get under your skin far too easily. Not that you should be too ashamed, when it's someone with my skills. But you broadcast everything like a freaking _gatlok_ keg is under every thought you have. Which tells me even _more_ about you." 

"You took me prisoner!" Dorian exclaims. "You've dragged me around for days: drugged, drunk or both! It's a wonder I can still remember my own name!"

I'm scared. Which is not something I want to admit.

He sighs, rubbing over his eyes again. The templar's asleep and despite everything he's been given, Dorian can feel flickers of magic at the edge of his awareness, and he just wants to draw it all in and then let it _go_. This whole enforced-magical-chastity thing is only making him more frustrated.

Deep breath. Try to be sensible. "If you're planning to hand me off to whoever Padraig is working for, then I'd rather drop this right now because it's all pointless in the end. And if you aren't – if there is some actual sincerity under it all – then please, _please_ , get me away from here. From _him_. I'll do whatever you want, short of hurting innocent people. I'd… just… _please_."

Begging. Yes. The one thing he'd promised himself he wouldn't willingly stoop to. That lasted a long time, didn't it?

"What is it you really want, Dorian? Because I just told you: if I let you go, and you do what you were doing before, if it isn't Good Ser Lyrium-Happies over there, it'll be someone else. They'll find you. And they'll do things to you. And you won't enjoy those things, I can assure you."

Even thinking about it sends a chill up Bull's spine. 

"You know my 'name', my title, don't you? You know that. Say it." 

Dorian bites his lip. He's suspected it for a while – since it became obvious that Bull is simply too well-trained and focused to be just Tal-Vashoth – but he's been trying not to think it because _this_ is much more dangerous, and it's cavorting with the enemy.

And he's the only one who understands.

"You're Ben-Hassrath," he says, quietly. " _Hissrad_."

"Currently on absence without leave, but… yes." Too many _bas_ just don't understand. Dorian might not, not really, but he knows more than most do. And usually it plays to his advantage.

People are more likely to talk to you, if they don't realise you're a spy. 

"I told you not to trust anyone. Now I'm going to ask you to trust me. You can choose not to, that's your prerogative. But I'm your best chance of working out who the fuck is sending people after you, and getting them to stop. And the first step: is not running away." He laughs, quietly, but honestly. "Which seems to be a trait of yours. Understandable, given your circumstances. I wouldn't have wanted to stay around, either." 

"I am not running away!" Dorian insists. "I am merely… avoiding certain problems whilst I try to deal with other ones…"

Even now, he can hear how pathetic it sounds.

"Suppose I do trust you," he says, which is not – yet – an answer either way. "What then?"

"I continue to dose you with preventative antidote. You continue to hate templars and Qunari. I draw out as much as possible from Andraste's Hedgehog Fucker. You learn how not to let yourself get caught. And either we get the information we need, the situation becomes too dangerous to continue the ruse, or we get as close as possible to the asshole behind this clusterfuck."

Bull bobs his head, left and right, trying to see if there's anything he missed. "Then you run off into the sunset, doing whatever it is you want to do. I report back to the _Ben-Hassrath_ , who either take a few pot shots at key people, or declare war… and we all live happily ever after." And maybe I get to see my Chargers again. "Except Ser Patty Cakes. Who will likely be dead by this point." 

This all sounds very logical to Dorian. Sensible. More likely to get him somewhere. And… also possibly too good to be true. He's learned the hard way that most people – even the more decent sort – are still out for what they can get from you. Physical, material, emotional.

"And what do you want in return?" he asks.

"Well, my basic motivation is stopping Darkspawn Magisters, not gonna lie. I was telling the truth when I said that's why my people hate your people. No offence intended, but they do have a habit of pulling this shit off and screwing things up for everyone else." Bull squints at him. "So if you're motivated by stopping the shit we hate, then we're on the same side… for once." 

It makes sense to him that not every Vint is an asshole. A bit less that it's an altus mage, son of a magister, but there's exceptions to every rule. 

"Plus, I **really** need to kick the shit out of something. I took this job on because I need a good fight. _Really_ need to work some shit out. And I am not getting anything like the action I need." 

Which is more than he has said on the matter to anyone, even to Krem. He just… told them he'd be off for a while. But it's getting worse, and he's fighting the urge to just fucking… find a dragon and headbut it. 

Dorian looks at him. _Really_ looks at him. He's starting to think Bull actually means what he's saying. That he's serious about helping. And that… well. That's better than just escaping, isn't it? Dorian is fully aware that running off on his own like this to try to fix things was more than a little hot-headed, but at the time he had no other option.

Now perhaps he does. Even if that option does happen to be a Qunari spy.

"I could put up a fight, if you like," he says, with a trace of a smile. "I have plenty of duelling experience. Most of it magic-on-magic, but I'm good at adapting."

"When I get like this, I usually need someone with a fucking big stick. And – you know, it wouldn't really go with the 'undercover' element where we're convincing Harland that you're all drugged up to the eyeballs and pissed off if he finds you throwing sparkly shit at me." Though the thought is somewhat intriguing. 

Bull's only ever really fought mages who were in it for the kill. He never asked Dalish to spar, because… well. Can you even pull a punch or hold back if you're a mage? Just… slightly less flames? He's not sure. "Plus, what I need… not sure I'd remember to hold back. I need to… _fuck something up_." 

That's the bit that concerns him the most. How close to the edge he's been feeling. He's only really lost control a few times in his career, and the worst time… one of the worst experiences of his life. He's glad he's not _Saarebas_ , because he's sure if he had magic, he'd have burned down half of Thedas if he'd been given the chance. 

"But thanks." 

"Well, the offer stands," Dorian answers. "Especially after we lose our mutual friend."

There's an odd look in his eyes though, and one he doesn't elaborate on out loud. Not this time. Probably not wise to admit that he's more drawn to the danger in the other man's voice than he should be.

"Speaking of which… I guess we can't expedite getting rid of him?"

"He won't tell me where the drop-off is, or who he's connected to. He's more likely to do that if he thinks I'm on his side… or give me hints of it. I could always…" Bull's fingers move, suddenly, and he's brandishing a small, sharp knife. From somewhere. It's not clear how he got it so quickly into his hands, but it's probably for the best.

"…I can make people tell me things, but they're more likely to tell the truth if they aren't coerced. Case in point." He nods at Dorian. "Don't feel bad about that… it is my job. It's more the shit you let slip that you didn't realise that you should worry about, than things you say when you're drunk. And it takes _years_ of practice to hide that." 

Bull looks over to the sleeping templar. "I'll have to go harder on you. But I know how to make it hurt without causing damage. And I know how to piss you off. It _will_ piss you off. And you _will_ doubt my real intentions. But that's the only way…" His attention snaps back. "And it's the right way: you should never trust anyone completely. Not even yourself." 

Dorian's eyes follow the blade like he's almost hypnotised by it. Somehow it's more alarming than the giant broadaxe the other man carries, which is ridiculous. It must be the exhaustion. And the emotional trauma. And all the drugs.

"…You need to make him think you hate me more," he says, softly; well-aware that doing so will not be pleasant. "He's already concerned that you're sympathetic towards me. The last thing we want is him deciding _you're_ too much trouble. I mean… I know you'd best him in a fight," he adds, quickly, because he doesn't want Bull to believe otherwise, "but our noble plan to save the world will fall short if we lose our only lead."

"Exactly. Now you're thinking like a _Ben-Hassrath_." It's said with a mixture of approval and regret. Bull's particular set of talents are required, but not necessarily pleasant. You have to think of the greater Qun. Think of the end result. Think of the maximal benefit…

It's what he's been taught, and what he tries like hell to hold onto. 

"Don't worry about fighting me back, just… don't go so hard that he's tempted to join in. Direct your anger to me, and hope he gets off on watching enough. I think he does… the distance means he can enjoy it without risk."

The Orlesians have their Game. The Tevinter have their internal politics. The Qun push their fingers into everyone else's business, but in ways the _bas_ rarely realise. It's all just the same, underneath it all. 

"So maybe you **will** get to take a chunk out of me. Go for my blind side, and my bad ankle. It's what you should be doing. Try not to take out my eye, but anything else is fair game." 

"I'll… bear that in mind," Dorian manages. "And you… don't do any serious damage. Or give him a reason to stop watching and join in."

Dorian still hasn't forgotten that first day with Padraig, and the dagger, and the tree. Not at all. He saw something in the templar's eyes that gave him good reason to be wary. It's a large part of why he's never even tried to build some sort of bond with him, the way he has with Bull.

"He hasn't so far… I like to think I can keep that going." Bull snorts, and then turns to reach into his pack. 

There are not many 'luxuries' in the Qun, not really. And he's sure his betters would frown at what he indulges in, but they aren't here, and he's the one who gets all the shit jobs, so he can have the occasional indulgence. 

"Here." Bull tosses over one of the hard, sugary cookies he's been keeping stashed. He doesn't like people to know how much he enjoys them, because… it's something of a guilty secret, even for a guy who claims to have none. "Don't leave crumbs. Then you should get some sleep… tomorrow won't be as nice." 

This takes Dorian by surprise, and he smiles again, just slightly. "Thank you," he says, and means it. "I miss the food from back home. I'm not accusing you of starving me, but sometimes a little luxury goes a long way."

It tastes as good as it looks, too, which is even better. "I didn't expect you to have a sweet tooth. Isn't that against the Qun?"

"Y-yeess… and… No…" How do you explain it? "It's… sugary food exists. Just… it's usually fresh or dried fruits, not… refined. It's not that it's against anything, per se, it's just… not part of our cuisine." 

Bull takes one for himself, though it's gone faster than it should really have. He wants another, but he has to ration them out, when he's on the road. "It's usually only Tal-Vashoth and people like me who get to experience other cultures, unless they're _Viddathari_. And until some Qun scholar tells me otherwise, I'm considering it just fine. Maybe even if they do tell me to stop." 

Yeah, you're not supposed to admit you aren't entirely compliant. 

"That's my… assignment, you know. Tal-Vashoth. Act like I am. Feed back intelligence. Probably to keep me away from others, and use me--" while they still can. He knows, on some level, that he'll either flip out and be taken down, or take himself back to be re-educated again. 

Not that it worked perfectly last time, or he wouldn't be so… ugh! It's hard. Not Seheron-hard, but hard. "So I act differently. Apparently it's fine if you've been told to. Greater minds than I figured that out." 

"You were pretty convincing," Dorian concedes, because he was. "Except for being a little too smart. That's what made me get suspicious. But I don't think our templar friend has caught on."

Unless he's also smarter than he appears. Which is possible.

"I suppose your superiors will have a grand old day when you report back to them about all this. What better excuse to come and give dread Tevinter a good thrashing? I really was _trying_ not to start a war…"

"You know, _Hissrad_ can go Tal-Vashoth. If I did, and I was smart enough, I'd be just like I am already… without reporting back. It's…" This is so not a discussion Bull should be having. "Some just… want out. Some want to burn it all down. Not every Tal-Vashoth is gunning for the Qun. Some just… want to live outside of it." Which he can understand more than those who really do damage.

"Not that they'll let you know about it. Can't advertise there's a way out, or even that it's possible. You're supposed to want to stay, and that's it. It ends up making those who leave even more likely to turn on them, and that's when shit goes nasty. Like… Seheron."

Which. Worst time of his life. 

"You know, they might just take the surgical route. Snap a few necks. Slip in a few _qamek_ -dipped daggers. It doesn't necessarily mean there will be a war. And…" Ugh. "You really want to think you'd not run right to your daddy if you heard there was an invasion planned?"

"I have no intention of going anywhere near my family after what happened," Dorian replies, and the pain is back in his eyes now. "I… didn't tell you the whole story the other night. I told you we fell out because I'm disinclined to produce an heir… but I didn't tell you all of what they did when I refused. They locked me up for months. I think I hinted at that part. They locked me up for months and I'm only here now because I got out. And my father, he…"

It hurts. Oh, it _hurts_.

"…he tried to use blood magic to manipulate me. To… to _change_ me. He used to go on and on about how bad blood magic is, and be so proud of the fact that he's one of the few in the Magisterium who _doesn't_ practice it behind closed doors, and then…"

Head down. Deep breath.

"…so, no. I won't be running home. Even to defend it. I can't."

Well. Shit. That… Bull is not happy with. Not at all, and the anger that runs across his face is… unbridled for a moment.

Even if he'd be treated more or less the same in the Qun, if he happened to have any feelings for someone. If it was just sex, then fine. And from the way Dorian's voice breaks, it isn't. Bull understands that kind of… tone. 

"Come on. Get up." He walks over to the horse, where Dorian's staff is kept. Picks it up, and tosses his head. "I'm taking you up on that offer. Far enough away from him to not wake him up… unless you can do something that won't hurt him to put him deeper under?" 

"Not without him knowing," Dorian replies, taken by surprise. "And I don't want the trouble it would invite."

And the temptation to just light the damn templar on fire is harder to fight than it should be.

He staggers to his feet, swaying slightly – because of how messed-up his system is right now – and gestures deeper into the forest. "We should head that way, find a suitable clearing."

His heart is suddenly racing. Why is it doing that?

They walk for a few minutes, well out of range of the templar, until they do indeed reach a large, grassy clearing surrounded by thicker trees on all sides. Perfect.

Bull tosses Dorian the staff, knowing he can catch it even with his hands bound, now they're far enough away that he thinks Padraig won't hear. "Don't use magic. It's still sturdy, I checked. Just…"

He's so. Damn. Wound.

"Hit me. Hit me as hard as you need. Because…" Because. Bull understands both sides of it, even if he wishes he didn't. "Don't think about it, just… do it. Until your arms hurt. Until you're too tired to be angry. **Hit me**." 

Dorian doesn't need a staff to do magic, but having it back in his hands makes the power flare inside him like nothing else, and he feels more like himself than he has in days. He wants to let it go completely; to let it flare out and fill the world… not to attack, or to harm, but just to _exist_.

But he shouldn't. He's not certain how the other man would react, and he doesn't want it to look like he's trying something underhand.

"You're… not going to fight back?" he says, because the request comes as something of a surprise.

"No. You're going to hit me," his fist pounds his chest, "--here. Shove at me, I'll shove back. I need it to hurt, and you…" He sucks his lip in, nips at it with one sharp incisor. "You need to be angry. At me. At the templar shit back there. At the asshole blood mages. At your father…"

Head lifted, arms out, an open offer. "I need this. You need this. Trust me." Why does he keep saying that? No one should trust him. Not fucking ever. "I can take whatever you need to give. And I won't hurt you, not when I invited you to do it."

Dorian still looks surprised. This is not exactly a Tevinter thing to do. It's very… well. Qunari. But he doubts Bull would suggest something like this unless he actually wanted to do it, and Dorian… Dorian _is_ more wound-up than he wants to admit.

He draws back with the staff, trying to focus half on what he's doing, and half on something he should be angry about. The damn templar. Yes. Easy start. Very easy. The damn templar, leeching the magic out of the world like it was his to take, like it isn't Dorian's fucking _birthright_ to…

And he strikes out with the staff, as hard as he can, managing to aim more or less exactly where Bull told him to.

It lands heavily, across the broadest part of his chest, and Bull knows to not tense up, or it will hurt more (and do more damage, potentially). He grunts, his knees flexing just slightly to take the impact. Sharp, and dull, all at once. It radiates out through the muscle after, and his heart starts to beat that little bit harder.

"That the best you can do?" he snarls, even though there's a hint of a smile on his lips. "I forced poison down your throat. I got into your head worse than a demon. And that's all you can do? **Hit. Me.** " 

This makes Dorian narrow his eyes. "You want to see the _best_ I can do, let me use magic, and you'll be on the other side of the clearing _on fire_ faster than you can say ' _ashkost kata!_ '"

He strikes again, harder this time (given that the first blow really _didn't_ have the effect he'd hoped) and doesn't stop at one, swinging in a second time, and a third. And on, and on, and…

Bull is right. Dorian _is_ angry. At him, at the templar, at the Venatori, at Alexius, at his father. At the whole damn world, if he's being honest. A world that seems conveniently designed to have no real place for him, but to make him long for one all the same. A world where everything about him is hated and despised by one group or another, and usually several at once.

A world where he can't just settle down somewhere peaceful with a nice man, a decent library, and a well-stocked wine cellar.

Damn right. He's _furious_. And it's all wound up inside him, like the magic but with no outlet; no way to work it out. Just rising and roiling and churning and…

Bull knew. Of course he knew. He knew it was all in there, because Dorian had told him. Not in ways he thought, but told him all the same. And he wonders if anyone's ever actually bothered to listen?

No one talks that much unless they're _begging_ to be understood. Witnessed. Known.

Accepted.

His training is a blessing and a curse in one. He can't _help_ but understand nearly everyone around him. It keeps him alive, and it keeps him going. And this fucking mage is about as Vint as an Orlesian likes farting in public. 

"That's it," he growls, enjoying both the physical sensation and the way the emotion _crashes_ off the shorter man. "Oh, _yes_ , that's it. Come on! Hit me like I'm dragging you back to your _family_ for **good**." 

Hurting – feeling – it makes it easier. Sensation intense enough and he can slip into only his body, can turn on the parts that survive, and turn off the parts that think. Push them down and away. He… _needs_ it. To keep him from becoming like those Tal-Vashoth on Seheron. He needs to keep himself in check, and burn through any thought of fear, or doubt, or any questions he might ask. Bull catches the staff when it comes in, next, and _shoves_ it backwards, skittering Dorian a short distance away. " _You can't break me_." Because Bull just keeps taking it. Every time. It's what he does. Take the hits, take the blows, and get up again. 

He stalks closer, and grabs the staff once more. Glares down, something strange and alive in his eyes. "No fire. Just _push_." 

Those words pull Dorian out of the haze he's in, making the world go sharp all of a sudden. For a second, he doesn't move – holds on, yes, but no more than that – as he processes what the other man is saying.

And, whilst he might have deigned to wait for permission, he doesn't need it twice. The air goes _electric_ all at once, like the static before a storm but magnified and localised. He can feel the magic inside, wound tight and hovering on the brink, and suppressed for far, far too long. Certainly longer than it has been in quite some time.

A pause, no longer than a breath; on the brink but holding… holding…

And the energy, the _magic_ , just floods out; channelled into a wave of force aimed at the man in front of him. Its touch alone isn't harmful – no flame, no ice, no lightning – but it hits hard.

It feels far too good, and that much is clear from Dorian's expression.

Bull's heels scrape backwards through the grass underfoot, two short lines before he can make enough of a dead weight, or shove back, to prevent himself moving any further. 

A human would probably have gone flying, but Bull manages to brace and grunt, chest and shoulders flexing to spread the pressure and keep breathing. 

It feels like a fucking mountain is sitting on his chest, and threatening to cave in his ribs. It feels like the air is suddenly turned into one, singular enemy. An 'enemy' he can't see, and can only feel. Like…

…suddenly there, out of nowhere, brought in on gusts of sandy air to slice and dice. Thick, choking poison gas. Screaming. Young voices. Tamassran. Make it stop. Make it stop! Not the fucking children! Make it---

The Qunari blinks, confused. He's on all fours, one hand grasping the front of Dorian's shirt, who he's somehow flung onto his back. He has no idea where the staff is, or how he got there, just that there's a strange… gap. 

And an odd calm again. Despite the pounding in his chest, whatever it was that had been itching and clawing is gone. And now he has a Vint under him who probably isn't all that happy about being slammed into the ground. (Unless he is.) "… _thanks_."

Bull sits up, then moves to stand, and offers Dorian his hand. "You need any more?" 

Dorian gives a yelp of shock as he's slammed onto his back, but he somehow manages not to lash out when it happens, letting the wave of magic die and just… not. Not resisting.

Which has to be common sense. Surely? If a large, angry Qunari slams you to the ground, it's better not to get yourself more hurt by trying to stop it… right?

…No. No, that's not right at all. But it's what happens. He can tell there's something going on in Bull's head, but he doesn't know what it is, and he's not at all sure it's safe to ask. They may be away from the templar, but he _is_ still a prisoner, and he doesn't want to tip this the wrong way.

And then there's the part where…

…no. No. Stop thinking that. No.

The other man's words drag Dorian's mind back to the here and now. "I… more?" he says, somewhat dazed. "That was… sufficient?"

"Yeah." Bull's voice is off. Maybe a little distant, or drowsy, or the lull after a short, sharp session of a different kind. "You need more?" 

The screaming and other things are gone. For now. Bull can focus again, and he turns that focus onto the man who hasn't taken his offered hand. "You can keep going if you need to. But I'm okay." 

Dorian isn't, quite. Bull can't see anger, but there's other things. He _can_ focus (not properly), and he licks around the inside of his mouth. "You did good. Not had a mage do that before. Might have to ask you again." Praise. It's what he needs, isn't it? Yeah. Someone to say it's alright. He grabs his arm and pulls him up to his feet, then claps him on the back with the other arm, before stepping away. 

This was so much easier for Dorian when they were just arguing, or sniping at each other, or yelling. Not this weird… camaraderie that makes the other man seem so normal and… and _relatable_ …

And he's really intense when he snaps like that. _Really_ intense. Dorian still feels very odd inside his head, and it's not just the magical release that's done it.

"I'm… pleased I could help," he hears himself say, which is not the words that are in his mind, but he can't say _those_ words so something has to take their place.

He could just… do it again. Couldn't he? Bull seemed to deal with it just fine the first time, and it's not as though Dorian is trying to wound him, or worse. Just… something.

Something.

Maybe it's because he's constantly got something to prove. To his family, his father, his tutors, his peers. Alexius. Felix. _Tevinter_. A world that sees one thing, but wants another. Even the people who like him always seem as though they'd prefer something else, given the chance.

So he does it again. The staff is off in the grass somewhere, but he really doesn't need it, and when his still-bound hands come up, they're glowing. A second wave of force emanates out, blasted forwards, as strong as the first, and it feels _far too good_.

Oh, yeah. Bull is already hazy when the next wave comes, but he's still sharp enough where it matters. Muscle memory and self-preservation kick in from somewhere really far back, and he's roaring a challenge from deep in his belly as he fights to stay upright.

And it's a _fight_. Like being battered back by the backwash from a fucking big _Ataashi_. Whatever happened the first time doesn't seem to happen again, because he's struggling against it, taking painfully slow steps that feel like they're through treacle. His whole body sings – like the Qun says it should – working with the singular purpose of advancing. He can feel every brush of the world against his skin, and every slide of sinew and tendon against bone. The tightness in his calves, the weight of his horns on his head. 

This time, he grabs Dorian's shirt and slams him. But it's a tree that he slams him into, and not the ground. " _Tell me what you need_." 

Bull needs to hear it. Not because he doesn't know, but because he needs Dorian to know. 

That should not feel good. _Right_. It shouldn't. It should feel irritating at best and full-on-alarming at worst. Dorian knows this. There are some things in life you just do not do, and one of them is provoke a very large, very powerful Qunari into slamming you against the nearest flat surface. (Twice).

Dorian doesn't even know why he's doing it. Not consciously, at least. There's no coherent thought: ' _I will do X insane thing because_ …' It just… happens. (Some would argue this is the story of his life).

And then he's against the tree and held this time, and his heart is racing and his blood is burning and it's like before he let the magic out but… _more_.

He glares. Or stares. Or something. He's not sure how to react, but he doesn't want the other man thinking he's weak. Thinking he'll just… just give in and…

"…This." Because he knows that much. He just doesn't know why. (Right?)

"This?" Bull pushes again, and suddenly he's dragging Dorian's spine up the tree, lifting him just an inch away from the ground. It's no hardship. He's got the tree to help. "Don't you want me to let you go? Let you _run_?"

It was all he'd asked for, after all. Every day. To be let go. To run. 

He drops his head, until they're at eye-level. Dorian's toes brushing the ground. "You can't run, not now. But you never wanted that, did you? You always wanted a place to _stay_." It's why he has. Despite everything. And even after all his fucking homeland threw at him, he still doesn't want to let them burn themselves down. "They don't **deserve** you. You should know it." 

"I do know it," Dorian says, oddly softly; not resisting the way the other man holds him. "But it's not about what they deserve. It's about what's right. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be here. I'd've gone to Orlais, put up with the terrible fashion, and drunk overpriced wine until I didn't care anymore. But I didn't. I'm here. I'm here, and you're here, and you… I should hate your guts, and everything you stand for, and I shouldn't trust a word you say because you flat-out _admitted_ you're a damn spy, and I… do. Still. Trust you."

His cheeks feel hot. Everything feels hot. When did it get so warm?

"And then… then you go and do _this_ … and it feels…"

He could fight back. Easily. He might not be able to take the other man down without using lethal force, but he could certainly do enough to make a run for it. And Bull's right. It's what Dorian has wanted to do all this time. Run. Get away. Forge on with his self-appointed mission and hope he gets some answers before it's too late.

And he still isn't. Running. Fighting. Anything, really.

"I could let you go, right now. Loosen my hand. You could grab your staff. But you stay… even when there's a templar who wants to use you for target practice." Bull's eye tracks left and right, watching his expressions, reading everything.

So fucking open. He doesn't try to hide anything, does he? Not really. He screams it from the treetops. Proud of who he is, and desperately hurt that no one else is. Proud. Of him. 

"You'd be so easy to manipulate, you know. Anyone could flatter you. Could praise you. Could reassure you. But you wouldn't believe it… not really… ah, there it is." Just like that. It snaps into place in Bull's head. "You can read people better than you think you can. It's why you're so disappointed. It's why you drink."

That's why he's not someone's puppet already. He craves it, but he sees through false tongues. He's like Bull is. 

"You trust me because I tell you the _truth_." Bull usually tells the truth. At most, a sin of omission, or careful phrasing. They call him _liar_ , but you don't need to lie. Not to get what he needs. 

Still. He doesn't go around telling everyone his Qun-given name. But he told Dorian. "I don't want to let you go." 

Even for a spy, Bull sees too much. Far too much. It makes the hairs prick up on the back of Dorian's neck, but not in a run-for-it sort of way. No. At first, maybe, but not now. He doesn't just see, he takes the time to see.

He wants to see. What does that even mean?

And then those words. _I don't want to let you go_. Why does that make Dorian feel so damnably _alive_?

He should call a halt to this… this whatever it is. This dangerous thing. He should.

"…I don't want you to let me go," he admits, softly.

"Then **stay**." Stay. A command, a request, a plea, a… something, all wrapped into one. 

Bull absolutely should not be asking it, not in the way he means it. It isn't 'don't run away from the mission', it's… it's not even 'hey, I have a cool group of mercs I want to introduce you to' (and that's going to be an interesting meeting, if and when it happens). 

Dorian is different. Aside from being who he is (Tevinter, altus, mage). Aside from being not-what-he-should-be _as_ those things. He's different. There's that weird little fire of indignation in him. There's _meaning_. There's a cause, like there should be. Like Bull hasn't felt from the Qun in far, far too long. Dorian believes in something, and it's something Bull thinks is worth believing in. 

All alone, ready to fight the whole damn world. And no one to thank him for it, just… hate him. 

It isn't fair.

Bull reaches into his hip pocket, and pulls out a spring ring with two keys dangling from it. He nods down to the cuffs, then lets go of Dorian's shirt. Slips the ring open, and flicks one key loose.

The first goes back into his pocket, and the second… Bull uses one finger to press it into the man's half-bare chest, then drags it down over his skin to tuck under the tight leather, just out of sight. "Now you _choose_ to stay. Not because you're made to. **That** is freedom." 

He lowers his head, just for a moment, touching their brows together. Too fucking close. He's let him much too close. Told him much too much, but… he needed to. He needed to be heard, just as much as Dorian did. If anyone would understand…

Bull lifts his head. "You should… sleep. It isn't easy… doing this." Being so honest. So dangerously, openly honest. And much as Bull wants to do other things… it isn't right. Not when Dorian's only barely sure he's free to run. It isn't right. 

All Dorian can do for a long moment is stare. Stare at Bull, trying to work out precisely where he's going with all this. Stare at the key, and focus on the feeling of it, of having it close, of knowing it's there. So many skills and spells in his arsenal, and somehow the little scrap of metal feels more powerful than all of it combined.

And then… that. Which is not what he expected, either. Physical contact that's unlike the rest of it, that speaks of those things at the back of Dorian's mind, and the ones still thrumming through his veins, that he's aware of but not _looking_ at, in case he sees them too closely. Scared of what they mean.

So why does it end the way it does?

"…You… don't want…"

He can't say the rest.

"I **do**." There's so much weight in that one word. And it's even more dangerous, because it isn't what it's supposed to be. 

It's supposed to be – mean – nothing. But Bull's very, very aware that it wouldn't. Not to him, and he's almost as certain as he can be that it wouldn't to Dorian, either. "But it isn't right. Not…" He looks down at Dorian's wrists. He's given him the key, but it's still…

"I don't… want it to be because of that." It isn't right. It isn't what Bull _is_. Physical is one thing, and he has absolutely zero issue with that. His head turns, not looking at anything, but needing to not-look somewhere far away. 

"I manipulate people. It's my job. I'm good at it." And now he hates that he is, because maybe then Dorian wouldn't be so amenable. It was one thing to talk yourself into knowledge, into 'camaraderie' with people. It was entirely another thing to talk them into… things. 

It's why he's alone right now. People around him… well. He has to make sure they don't get hurt. Especially by him. 

"So do I," Dorian reminds him, softly. "Not as my job, per se, because I don't actually _have_ one, but… I do. I let people see what they want to see, or what they need to see. But you… you just… _see_."

Me. Just me. Not the things I'm supposed to be, or pretending to be, or pointedly _not_ being. Me.

Something makes Dorian lift his still-bound hands and touch them just lightly to Bull's chest. The other man has had his own hands all over Dorian after all, so it seems right to return the favour.

"Maybe you should stop holding back," he hears himself say. "If I wanted to run… I would have done it by now. I still could, if I tried. But… I won't."

The taller man's head snaps back, and he's not hiding the rush of emotions over his face. He isn't always inscrutable, he just chooses when, and where, and what he allows to be scried. 

"You should tell me 'no'," Bull reminds him, moving a hand to curl his fingers around his strong jaw, cupping his chin and soft gullet in the palm of his warm hand. "I would listen. You should tell me what… _really_ means no. Your watchword. Or I might…"

Head turned and held, so his tongue can trace over his upper lip, chasing the too-prim curl of hair. "…I might not stop. And even _you_ should be able to. **Especially** you should be able to. Make me."

While he's waiting for an answer, he directs Dorian's head to one side so he can drag his lips over the evening's stubble on his cheek and upper neck. He tastes of sweat, and a day of travel, and fear and hope and all sorts of intoxicating things. Bull moans, sucking at the human-musk, eye closed as he drowns in the taste. 

Dorian can't help quite a gasp at that, surprised by how intimate it is. Some part of him had still expected the other man to just throw him down on his back – or over the nearest fallen tree – the second he gave consent, so this instead is… different. Softer. _Good_.

And they're negotiating the other thing now, aren't they? Dorian is worldly enough to know precisely what Bull means when he says _watchword_ , but it's not something he's ever had before. Especially as the one who is clearly going to be the bottom.

"What would you have me use?" he asks. "I speak Common, Tevene, a scattering of Qunlat, a little Elvish, and all the best Dwarven curse-words. And I'm very vocal. So the list of words I might come out with at any given moment is… extensive."

Which is true. But what it actually means is that he's genuinely nervous. Not opposed, oh no, but… apprehensive.

"Something you'll remember, when your mind is all but gone. Something you won't shout out in normal circumstances." Bull scrapes his teeth over skin, licks a wet, fat tongue behind Dorian's ear. Steps closer, a hand on his hip, slowly pushing into his space. "Something I'll know means you don't want any more. A foodstuff, a creature, a simple thing that you don't like…"

The hand on his hip kneads through the leather over skin, and Bull's knee nudges between Dorian's, easily pressing where he's pleased to feel the interest he knew was waiting. He likes being wanted, of course he does. It's no fun if it isn't entirely enjoyable by both parties. 

And Bull wonders just how many times it's been as enjoyable as it should for this one. Probably not enough. He slides a hand around to his ass, under his upper thigh, and encourages it to move around his waist. " _Fuck_ , but do you know how _much_ I want to hear you scream?" 

That makes the whole world go sideways, and Dorian feels like the only thing holding him up is the other man's hands on him. He doesn't know why he's just _giving in_ like this, but he _is_ sure that it's what he wants. A lot. Right now.

"Then make me," he says, in what he hopes is a sure and winning tone, but which comes out more like a plea. "And… for a watchword… how about _libertas_? I usually only resort to Tevene when I'm talking academia or cursing, and that would be neither…"

Bull lifts his other leg up, hoists him higher, and then slams his hand to the cuffs between his wrists, yanking his arms above his head, stretching him out on display. The appreciative little grumble he makes at the sight says he's very, very much enjoying this. "Freedom… of course. You _want_ me to take that away." 

Thick, but deft fingers start to unfasten the hideous collection of fastens, stays, buttons, loops that barely conceal his chest. And when he finds the key, he lifts it and pushes it into Dorian's hand for safe-keeping. 

"When was the last time someone reamed you open, Dorian? Do I need to finger you like a delicate flower, or do you need it rougher?" He doesn't need to ask. He wants to. He wants the colour high on the dusky cheeks. Wants the catch in his breath, and wants to hear him let out _filth_. "Can you come just from my fingers, do you think?" 

His chest bared, Bull moves to rove his tongue across the warm, smooth flesh. His free hand grips his buttock as he grinds their respective tight trousers together. Bull likes humans. They're such tight fucks, and they always _make so much noise_ if you do it right. He laps at a nipple, then wraps his lips around to suckle, hard. 

Dorian cries out at that, more than aware of how needy he sounds but unable to keep it out of his tone. The rough treatment makes every inch of him feel hyper-sensitive and it's a moment before he can gather himself to speak (which is an achievement in itself).

"Why don't you find out?" he says, and whilst it isn't quite the growl he was hoping for, the provocative edge is still there. "I don't usually go for anything so _primal_ … so maybe you should show me what I've been missing…"

And _that's_ code for ' _I usually top – even from the bottom – so I want to know why I suddenly feel the need to be ravaged like a captured slave_ '. Though he's not quite brave enough to say that much.

It's there in every breath, though; in every movement, every murmur of desperate pleasure. He wants to want it. Wants to be _made_ to want it.

"Remember to tell me if it hurts too much." Bull knows he's heavy-handed. And large-handed. And he doesn't want Dorian to hold on to some perverse bravado and get injured.

Although – usually – if they're of a mindset to do that, he can tell and he knows to stop. But it's important that Dorian _knows_ , really knows. That means he can then worry less. 

He pulls his knife from wherever it hides. There's only a flash of it before it's sunk into the tree. The handgrip pinning the cuff chain to it, so Bull's hands are free again. He goes back to enjoying Dorian's chest, while his hands make light work of his belt, and pull it from the loops, letting it fall to the grass. 

He has to step back – just for a moment – dragging first one boot then the other off. They land where they fall, and Bull makes Dorian take his own weight from his wrists as he strips him from the waist down, then tilts his head, enjoying the view. 

"Sex should be primal. Should be about **need**. And you've been waiting to be _needed_ , haven't you?" 

The Iron Bull drops to one knee, and shunts up until the mage gets the idea to use his horns like stirrups, hooking under the knees. 

" _Yes_ ," Dorian gasps; in answer, in agreement, in appreciation. He's completely caught now – helpless and bared in every sense of the word – and it ought to terrify him, but it doesn't. It makes his heart race and his thoughts spin, oh yes, but not in a bad way. Or anything close.

And the other man is right. Dorian _does_ want to be needed; very, very badly. Wants to be more than just a one-off lay or a temporary dalliance; a convenience brought on by alcohol or boredom or both. He still doesn't know if that's what this is, but it feels different. After all, if Bull just wanted to fuck him, he could have done it a lot sooner. Dorian _did_ offer, and it wasn't simply a ruse.

Even then, he'd wanted Bull to do something like this. Even when they were – for all intents and purposes – enemies. What does that mean? That he's even more deviant than people make him out to be? Or… is it something else entirely?

"Do it," he begs. "Fuck me. _Please_."

"Not. Yet." But the begging? It goes from the tips of Bull's horns, all down his spine, and sparks a molten lava-pit somewhere behind his balls. His voice _purrs_ with promise, as he hooks one finger under Dorian's balls and lifts them, so he can inhale deeply where his scent is strongest. His tongue swipes behind, over his taint, then swirls a quick circle before he's pushing past the rim. 

He has something that will work for lube on him, of course he does. But Bull wants to enjoy this as long as he can. It's been… a while since… since it was more than just convenience fucks. In fact, nothing since he'd left Qun territory. He'd always been open for fun, just… wary of anyone who might think of it as anything more than said fun, or at most, a business transaction. (Not that he paid in cash.)

His eye closed, Bull palms his hands over Dorian's taut thighs, his belly, the edges of the dark curls. He wants to make this… something. Something fucking worth it. And he wants to prove something, also, both to himself and to Dorian. He hasn't quite worked out what it is yet – which is terrifying and enthralling in equal measure. His tongue whorls inside, enjoying the sounds he's getting in return, and his nose bumps against that heavy sac sliding over his face. It's nearly blue already, and Bull is **delighted** at the thought of milking him of every last, sticky drop. 

Out from his hole, and one finger thrusts to the knuckle, wanting it to ache and throb at least a little. "Keep talking. I _like_ your pretty, never-quiet mouth." 

That makes Dorian _howl_ with shocked bliss; a ragged cry that seems to come from the deepest reaches of his body. " _Yes_! More… please more… _Maker_ , I need to feel it… feel _you_ … _**please**_ …"

His wrists ache from taking so much of his weight, but he's only distantly aware of the sensation; too lost in what the other man is doing to him, and in the knowledge that – watchword and unused magic aside – he really is helpless right now.

Should he like it this much? Because… he does. And he knows Bull is just getting started.

Of course he's vocal. Bull _likes_ the passionate ones. And this one has been far too repressed – from circumstance, not choice – so he's a literal black powder keg. Light, ignite, explode. "Got to open you up, first. You're tight, and I want you to last when I get inside you." 

He pushes up, aiming towards the base of Dorian's cock from the inside – and then pulls his finger out to just the tip. A little vial of lightly scented oil, and his finger slips out to pluck and circle his hole. He massages up against his prostate from the outside, using his nose to draw a line up and down the very eager shaft. "Be easier to fuck you after you've come, but I want you to **feel** it all, the first time." 

His finger goes back in, and this time it goes all the way to his palm. He stretches and bends it, grinding where he can feel it causes twitches and more noises. "Such a pretty cock, though. A shame not to have a taste." 

The Iron Bull has never been ashamed of liking dicks. Dicks are great. Everything is great, if you know what to do with it. He puts his tongue flat underneath the head, and slides his lips down the shaft as he thrusts the second finger inside. It makes said dick twitch, and he rattles out a pleased response somewhere in his throat. 

And _that_ makes Dorian curse a blind streak in what sounds like a mixture of Tevene and Dwarvish. It certainly isn't easily comprehensible, even to a linguist, although the tone is clearly _very_ approving indeed.

He already feels as though the other man is pulling him apart, the world going hazy round the ages as Bull rewrites it to his own will. But it's not like when the damn templar draws the magic out of the world, oh no, it's the exact opposite: an explosion of colour against the darkness, thrumming with a heady kind of power.

" _Yes_!" he gasps again, and he already sounds completely wrecked; any attempt at decorum long since abandoned. "Yes… like that, like that… please don't stop… _Maker_ , don't stop, I'll do anything…"

Dark lips curl into a smile, and Bull **knows** he's good at this anyway, but hearing the affirmation so loudly… he has to grab his own cock with his free hand, feeling the swelling through his trousers. He gives it a few strokes, then refocuses his attention. His tongue pushes Dorian's length up into his palette, and he slides up and down to slicken it nicely, then pulls up so only the very tip stays between his lips. His tongue works over the slit, as he kneads with his mouth, wanting to show him just why he's worth the effort himself, and not just because he was born with enough of a dick to make any bottom ache. 

Speaking of, he should use more than two fingers, but Dorian is bouncing already and if he just… splays them… yep, there's the point where the mage's leg bounces uncontrollably. He pushes back against the wall inside, then his digits are out, and he's simply holding Dorian's ass on one palm as his suckling goes momentarily dainty.

And then he lets the shaft slip out, and dance over his mouth instead. "You think you're ready?" 

"Yes!" Dorian answers, barely a breath after Bull has spoken. There's desperation in his eyes, but it's clear he's enjoying _that_ too. "Yes… fuck, yes… I need you to _split me in two_..!"

The other man is far, far too good at this, and Dorian is confident Bull will break him before long. And he can't _wait_ for that to happen.

He tries to arch into the contact, the stimulation, all the more; even as he's begging for attention of a different kind. This is the kind of sex he could get addicted to; the kind that smashes out every other thought and word and leaves him adrift in a panoply of raw _need_.

Bull puts his hands up under the mage's knees, taking the weight as he slowly rises to standing. He moves to support under his ass – legs around him again – as he makes a show of unbuckling his own trousers. He tugs his own cock loose, and it nicely floods his palm and beyond: dark, with the faintest dribble wetting the tip. 

It's silly to be proud of your dick, when you just got lucky, but that's how men are, and Bull is no different. "Gonna fuck you up so bad you won't **want** another cock in you. You want to ride the Bull… you better be prepared for the _fight_."

His first few thrusts are almost idle, bumping into his balls, sliding between his cheeks. But that's because he was lulling – or aggravating – or both. A finger and thumb push the point at his pucker, and then Bull holds both hips and grunts as he thrusts up, and in. 

"I _like_ the fight," Dorian groans, still sounding debauched beyond belief, and then he's crying out all over again in wracked bliss as Bull pushes into him. Fuck. _Fuck_ , but he's big. He holds on as tight as he can, legs around the other man's waist, and tries to angle himself to get that cock as deep as he can.

Not that he can do much in this position, of course, though that won't stop him trying. He _is_ very trying. And discovering that all those stories about well-hung Qunari warriors are, in fact, true.

" _Yes_ ," he gasps again, because affirmation is vital at a time like this, and because it's extremely important the other man doesn't do anything over-cautious, like stop. Especially not that. "Harder. _Please_. Don't hold back."

"Not. Gonna." Not after he takes a moment to just… feel the way their bodies meet. The wet, soft, alive tightness around him, the tremors and flickers, and the press of heels that urges him on. 

Bull grabs Dorian's hips punishingly tight, and rocks on his knees to unlock those final few gasps of joining. He always feels better when he feels his partner letting go, and he always wants to draw out the first moment for as long as possible, before sheer force of hunger drives him out of his mind. Like battle fog, but better, and with much less blood and more fun bodily fluids instead. 

The Qunari steps in closer, making the angle shift and Dorian's back slide up the tree-trunk. It takes some more of the weight from his wrists, but it also allows Bull to tilt his head and come in to bite his lip and push his tongue past any complaint. The mage's own weight bears him down, and Bull's hips start to snap. Slow, at first, but with rising urgency and anger, licking into his mouth as he fucks into his ass. 

And all Dorian can do it just _take it_. Take it, and revel in it, and lose himself completely in the force of nature who is comprehensively ravaging him right now.

One thing's for sure: it's better than the fantasies. And the fantasies were damn good.

He'd be urging the other man on if he could speak, but he can't, and he'd be doing plenty with his hands if he could… but he can't. He's utterly caught, trapped, _conquered_ , and he fucking loves it. And that's unexpected, even for him.

" _Please_ ," he gasps, when he gets the chance, though he's not even sure what he's asking for. Just that he needs it very, very badly.

Bull's cheeks are flushed when he breaks for air, and he pulls back just enough to make eye contact. 

Then he reaches up, and pulls the knife out of the tree, and then roughly slides one horn, then the other, through the circle of Dorian's arms, letting them fall over his shoulders. "Hold on."

Because then Bull lifts him off his cock, and forcibly turns Dorian to face away from him, meaning his wrists are crossed and he's basically slung over Bull's neck like a very large, very wriggly and very horny amulet. 

Down to one knee, forcing Dorian to scrabble in front and below, and then he's pulling those buttocks wide. His lips go to the mage's throat, a hand on the ground for stability and the other on Dorian's hip to impale him backwards. He knows it must be agony, but it's the good kind, and the kind that will mean he won't walk straight for days. "Gonna fuck you til you forget _every_ language in that pretty little head of yours. Til you forget there was ever a time you thought this wasn't what you wanted. Til you forget you ever thought it was _wrong_." 

The hand on his hip moves, grabs Dorian's spit-wet shaft, and makes a tunnel to drive him into with each fierce, furious snap of his hips. "Gonna make you _**mine**_."

Dorian tries to say something along the lines of ' _ohMakerfuckYES_ ', although what comes out isn't really anything close. It's less words and more _feelings_ , if 'ohMakerfuckyes' is a feeling. Right now it is.

He's face-down in the grass, swathed in darkness broken only by the single flaming torch they've brought – and the moonlight – and it's as though all of Thedas has shrunk down to this place, this moment. As though they're the only two people in the world.

Another attempt at speech just collapses into a low, keening sound, and it feels as though every thrust into him is pushing his mind out of him. As though he's just this: just need, and pleasure, and desperation, and all three at once.

"Y-yours," he somehow manages to gasp out, and the weight of the word is palpable.

Qunari don't… mate. They breed, when told to. They fornicate, because a body has urges. They don't – it's not right – it's what _Tal-Vashoth_ do. It's what the Qun will rip your mind out with poison for. It's…

He's the one who thinks this is wrong. The force of it, the realisation that he's not just blowing off steam… he fucking… _cares_ about this Vint he's ploughing face-first into the sodden grass… it twines up in his stomach and it's worse than swallowing any poison, because he doesn't want to throw it up. He doesn't want to get rid of it. He wants the rot of it to pulse through every artery, then sweep back on the downtide of his pulse. 

Dorian is… precious. Brave. Maddeningly, stupidly brave. Beautiful, yes, but it hasn't stopped him reaching his mind out in every direction, and breaking out of the chains he was raised in.

And here's Bull, rutting him further into the mud, trying to play his body like he should be playing his mind. Trying to make it sing truths for him. Trying to tell his own, even though he has no language to frame the thoughts or place the words. His hand grips tighter, and he's fighting himself to hold out even as his movements get irregular, messy, sloppy. He wants to make it good. Dorian deserves _good_. Dorian deserves a whole hell of a lot. 

He--

He absolutely, totally, no way in any age can do this. He can't. Even if he's pretending to be _Tal-Vashoth_. The Ben-Hassrath will never allow it, and Dorian will be in ridiculous danger, and Bull knows all this and still, somehow, can't help himself. Madness. Utter, utter madness. Knowing what to do, what needs to be done… and refusing. 

" _Kadan_ ," he rumbles, hiding the word in a soft kiss below his jaw, sighing as his climax hits and washes up like the ocean kissing the shore. He hopes Dorian didn't hear. He hopes he doesn't know what it means.

Because if he does, and he agrees… Bull may have just doomed them both. 

Dorian does hear. He hears just as he's about to cry out in release, and the shock of it makes the sound catch in his throat. Nothing can hold back his climax though, and he shakes as he spills, hard and messy and on and on until it feels like there's nothing left in him. Until it feels so amazing he can barely see, and he knows he'll crave this again, and again.

And then… then he's on his knees and panting and _exhausted_ , and processing that Bull… that Bull just said… that word means what Dorian thinks it means, right?

His mind reels. Races. The other man fucking his brains out wasn't a surprise (even if he feels more fucked out of said brains than he anticipated). The other man being so careful to establish consent beforehand was a little unexpected, but not at all unwelcome. But that…

He shivers, suddenly cold. Not quite knowing what to do. In truth, what came after was always going to be a bit of a grey area, but he half-expected it to be a jovial slap on the back and a 'thanks, that was fun'. That's what sex _is_ to him, most of the time. (Pretty much all of the time).

Not… this. That.

"You… I… you want…" he practically stammers, and it turns out _this_ is the best way to make him lose all grasp of language; with just one word, in a tongue that isn't even his own.

"I… don't want to let you go," Bull says, his voice so low as to almost not be there. He knows the position must be agony, though, and he carefully ducks his head out from the cuffed circle, letting Dorian's arms drop at last. "But I – I won't…"

Make you? He wants to. It claws in his belly, like poison-tipped arrows plunged deep inside. He wants to make him stay, and Bull wraps him from above in the tightest hug he can manage. Which is, it has to be said, pretty damn tight. "I don't mean… for this. I--"

He should probably not be pinning him down with his weight, even if some of it is taken by his hands and knees. And he shouldn't be nuzzling against his neck and cheek, while his dick goes soft inside of him. And he shouldn't be taking advantage of the post-coital fuzziness to… negotiate?

"You're… special." Bull is so fucking screwed. "Qunari… we don't… it's…" Not even taboo, it's outright banned. "…but I want to." Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. He tightens even harder, fighting the sudden panic and hope and terror and… something warm and weird and like a dragon bursting into the sky. "You don't have to answer, now. But. I wanted… I needed you to know." 

So classy. Kidnap him, poison him, fuck his brains out, then say you want to run away together. What on Thedas is he thinking? Bull is sure he's about to be struck down by Koslun himself. 

Dorian's heart races harder. He's used to thinking fast, but he can't quite keep up with his own line of thought right now, because it's too… big. Certainly too unexpected.

He's perfectly used to people – of all genders – finding him attractive. Used to them wanting to sleep with him. Definitely used to showing the suitably appealing and/or interesting male ones a very good time. Some want to stick around afterwards, some don't, but it's fine either way. Normal. Predictable.

He is _not_ used to someone talking to him like this. Especially someone who is technically supposed to be his enemy, who technically _is_ his captor, and who he's only known for a few days. But perhaps the thing that scares him the most is… it makes sense. It shouldn't, but it does.

"You… want me?" he stammers, totally out of his depth. "I mean, you… _want_ me, want me?"

"Who in their right mind wouldn't? Unless they were intimidated by you…" Bull is offended by the very question. It's nonsense. "I can see how someone of less intelligence might find you challenging, or they'd not be able to keep up… I like to think I'm not _that_ stupid."

He pushes his nose behind the mage's ear. "We… my people… don't… do 'relationships'. You think you're taboo? We get sent for _qamek_ re-education, and I'm talking more than what you had… so if… if even I want you, want you… then the rest of the world is insane if they don't see what you are." 

But why would Dorian want **him**? He's a Qunari. No magic. No money. No real home. A merc… "I'm sorry. You don't need to… I wasn't trying to abuse my position. I've just… never felt like this before. And I wouldn't live with myself if I didn't tell you." 

"I'm… glad you did," Dorian admits. He knows the words sound insane, but at the same time they _don't_ , and his mind is racing, trying to recover from the phenomenal sex and process this all at once.

It _was_ phenomenal sex. Though that's not why he's drawn. The thing about all those aforementioned other men who he's bedded is, they all want something from him. They want his body, or his mind, or his power, or – Maker – just his money. But Bull… Bull seems to want _him_.

"I'm sorry," he goes on, after a moment, when he realises he's been silent for too long. "I'm probably reacting to this all wrong. I'm just… you actually…"

Dorian feels strange. Sort of… warm and… and like the words in his brain don't quite work properly.

"…We could… see where this goes, if that's what you want," he manages, finally; not because it isn't what he wants, but because he still can't quite believe the way this is turning out.

"Yeah?" He – damn. Bull can't believe how ridiculously hopeful he sounds. He's not even sure what it is he is even asking for, or how one goes about doing things repeatedly and… feeling stuff. 

He has friends. He has his _Chargers_. But it's not… quite the same. 

"I'd… like that. I mean. If you… I wouldn't hold it against you if… uh. Qunari spies don't exactly have the most stable of lives, and… but hey, if you've got no better offers, you can at least ride my dick until you get bored of it."

Which he knows is not going to happen any time soon. He ruts against him again, then flops them onto their sides, his knees bending up and his hand lightly fluttering over his belly and spent dick. "Shouldn't stay here too long. If Harland wakes up and we're not there… say goodbye to any nice information extraction." Even if he is feeling, quite oddly, like cuddling instead. 

His face buries into Dorian's neck again, kissing and nuzzling, teasing stubble-burnt skin. "Unless you're wanting to go again soon…" 

Dorian closes his eyes and just lets the other man hold him. It is… nice. No. Better than nice. _Good_. Also a little terrifying, though not in a bad way.

"You might kill me if we do that again too soon," he says, and you could be forgiven for thinking that tone in his voice is affection. "Not that I would be opposed to a second round once I've had time to recuperate."

He doesn't want to go back. To the camp, to the templar, to the whole damned world. This is the first time in Maker-knows-how-long he's felt anything like _contentment_ , and certainly without a large amount of alcohol being involved.

"…you don't know some magic to help that? How long does it normally take?" Bull's trying to make light of it, to take away some of the terrifying too-sharp emotional discussion. "Because you can sleep on the horse, tomorrow… and I have _great_ stamina…"

Bull breathes in the nape of his neck, the hand on his belly pressing in, wondering how far inside the other man he reaches. Just idly, and somewhat… possessively, maybe. "Never done it with a mage, before." 

He definitely wants to do it again, though. Multiple times. Maybe some of them even in a bed. He wraps his fist over Dorian's length, just cupping it gently, very faintly squeezing for any lingering aftershocks. 

That makes Dorian give a distinct murmur of pleasure. "I didn't say I _couldn't_. I said you might kill me if we did. That was… intense. And if nothing else, I have to try to convince the damn templar that I haven't been _ravaged_ by the guy who's supposed to be on _his_ side in this whole situation."

He can't help a smile at the 'never done it with a mage' line, though. It makes him feel like he was worth breaking some unspoken – or perhaps spoken – rule for. And he's always been fond of a little rule-breaking.

"I do know a spell or two you might like," he adds, and the smile is audible now. "I am Tevinter, after all. If we don't know a spell for it, one doesn't exist. And at least one of our archons in the Storm Age actually wrote a book on the subject. _Magicae Carnalis_. Done under a pseudonym of course, but everyone knows it was him…"

"…as long as there's no demons, blood, bits falling off… I might be interested." Absolutely interested, because there's a heavy stir in Bull's loins, and his finger and thumb start to play very lightly with the tip of Dorian's cock. "A little cultural exchange. Learn more about the 'enemy'…"

Bull tugs an earlobe closer, nibbling and suckling, his hand moving to rove over the exposed body spooned into him. "Maybe you'll teach me a few new tricks, too. Never hurts to learn. Well. Not twice, anyway." 

He's trying to ignore the templar thing. He did wonder if he should pretend he's been… using him… but it's a little too far for him to even want to fake. "We could go at your pace, until you're ready for mine, again." 

Dorian gives an even more interested murmur and presses back against Bull rather more, chasing those teasing touches. "I'm sure I can teach you things beyond your wildest dreams," he says. "And I'm confident you'll make it worth my time…"

If the last howeverlong is any indication, there's no doubt about this.

"Tell me what your spells do, before you do them…" Bull rolls onto his back, with Dorian stretched out on top of him. He pulls him flush, and urges his legs apart to loop ankles outside his own. That means he has two hands.

Two hands, which means he can caress the tilted-back throat, and rove to explore more of his torso. "Tell me what it feels like, when you use it. When you use _any_ of it… what is it like?" 

Dorian is a little surprised by this – the question even more than the position – but he happily leans back into it, trying to decide how best to answer. "It's like… understanding the way reality is made up, and knowing that you can change it. Like being able to feel the energy behind it all – even when it can't be seen – and shape it to your will. It can be very subtle or very, very _not_. The better you get, the more it becomes like another sense… like you can perceive the flame before it exists, or the light before it shines. But, at the same time… you can feel the danger of it. The way it draws the energies of the world around you. And… the way it echoes in the Fade, like a spark in the darkness."

A beacon. A dangerous one.

"Sometimes when I sleep, when my mind crosses into the Fade, I know I'm not alone. I know there are other beings out there. Spirits. _Demons_. You have to be careful."

Especially if you have a talent for necromancy.

"And it feels… pent-up, if I don't use it often enough. Even for something minor. _Especially_ if it's been suppressed by someone. Though the moment of first release afterwards is _very_ pleasant. Like sinking into warm water. Or… like doing other things."

"That why you wanted to fuck so badly? You shouldn't have said that… it'll just make me want to put some kind of magical cock ring on you so you go like a thunderstorm when I take it off!" Bull can't help but laugh at that, and from the tone… it's no threat. It's just open bemusement. 

Clever fingers, more delicate than their size would suggest, happily chase sinews and tendons. Slide along planes, and find the places Dorian reacts the most. He's smart. He knows the body all too well. You need to, in order to incapacitate or worse, at short notice and in the heat of battle. You need to know where the weak spots are, where the pressure points are. And quite often, those weak points are also weak to gentle touches. Kisses, caresses, pinches and tugs. 

Bull maps him out by degrees, learning where his fingers go, to make the pipes sing cleanly. 

"So… you… what do you think of people who _don't_ have magic? Can't imagine it's… positive, as a rule." Not that Bull would want it, but he doesn't like being thought of as inferior for it, either. He licks a finger and thumb, then starts to tweak one nipple darker. "You pity us?" 

Dorian can't help but think that – whether deliberately or on instinct – Bull is interrogating him again. Though this time it seems far more like the fun kind, so he doesn't object. He does moan a little though, because his whole body still feels hypersensitive, and if Bull doesn't slow down he's going to want round two.

"People back home do," he answers, because it isn't exactly a secret how that aspect of Tevinter society works. "Our entire social structure is based on the presence – or lack thereof – of magic in a bloodline. Whether what most people feel for the non-magical is pity or simply superiority… that varies depending on the individual. But no. I don't pity you. I don't hate who I am or what I can do, but I'm aware there are distinct benefits to _not_ being able to do it. Especially south of the border. Or north of it, for that matter."

The touches really are too good, and Dorian knows he won't be able to resist initiating more if this goes on too long. And whilst that in itself would be _no_ problem at all, he's also aware that they can't stay out here forever. So he wriggles out of Bull's grasp just enough to let himself roll over, settling back on top of the other man but now face-to-face.

To see the sincerity in the other man's expression. To remind himself that this is real.

Bull's eye is hazy and his expression content, and he wraps one arm over Dorian's waist, fingers dipping into the small of his back, then trailing lower to feel the dribble of release that leaks out from his hole, stroking it into the sensitive skin there, and over the tops of his thighs. It's messy and glorious oh so perfectly sordid. 

His other hand lifts to push a stray curl of hair back from the other's forehead, and then he's playing with the dark, slightly sweat-damp curl of his moustache. "I don't hate you, you know. My--"

Oh, he's not told him. "Ah, I have a squad. A mercenary squad. Forgot to tell you. Bull's Chargers. There's all sorts of folks. A Vint – not a mage. And an elf, Dalish. They swear they aren't an apostate, but they sure as hell do weird glowing shit with their 'bow'…" 

Bull steals a kiss, a quick peck, and then lies back. "Obviously I wasn't going to let Harland know that. But yeah… no problem from me. I don't like _demon_ shit, blood magic shit… and Qunari mages tend to be… you know we literally call them 'dangerous thing'? That's fear, talking. Doesn't stop anyone using them… if you ask me, nobody's got it right. Don't think sewing your mouths shut works, but don't think letting demon-worshippers control countries is the answer, either." 

Which, again, is nothing he could ever say to the Tamassrans, or any Ben-Hassrath. Not and hope to walk away easily. 

Dorian smiles. "A squad?" he repeats. "I knew you didn't seem like the sort to be living the lone-warrior life. So where are they? You must have been on your own when you took this mission, Harland wouldn't have approached you otherwise."

Only after he's spoken does Dorian realise this might be prying. Then again, this _is_ the man who has just reamed him into near-incoherence, so perhaps there's scope for a _little_ prying.

The Qunari's lips thin, just a little, and his gaze skitters to the side for a moment. He knows he's letting Dorian 'see' too much, but… he must want him to. And – well – he's normally known anyone who could read him could do him serious damage, so he's never given them even half the chance. 

"I left Krem – the Vint – in charge for a while." His voice is a little… odd? Strained, then overly calm. "I needed… the distance. I needed… to make sure they were safe." 

He doesn't elaborate, but he doesn't shut it down, either. He flicks his gaze back. 

"Safe?" Dorian now says, more quietly. Realising there's something going on here, and not wanting to overstep when he's unsure precisely what boundaries still exist. "Did something happen?"

There's an odd little air of 'and can I help with it?' in there as well, but he doesn't know if he should give it voice just yet.

"From… my people. And…" He really shouldn't. He really, really shouldn't.

He doesn't. Bull doesn't. He never spills out his own fears, he never asks for help. He's the Iron Bull. He's in charge. He's impenetrable, and when he isn't, he leaves until he is. He's--

"…and from me. The… Ben-Hassrath don't… some _bas_ are collateral damage: of no consequence to them. They… if anything happened, they wouldn't necessarily see them as targets, but they wouldn't… make any attempt at avoiding them, either." Bull should know. He does know. From experience.

"I told you I took this mission because I… was looking for a fight. Dumb shit happened. Got my horns caught in vines. Needed to clear the shit out so I was able to look after them again. It's…" Ugh. "Thought if I got enough of it out of my system, it'd go back to normal." 

"That's why you took the job," Dorian says. "You didn't seem like the sort to work with a templar, either. But you needed a target. Something – some _one_ – you could hate. And instead, you…"

He gives a wave of the hand, clearly meant to encompass the situation as a whole. But it's more obvious what's going on here now. Bull is straying from the Qun, and in his efforts to go back to it, he's ended up straying _more_.

Which leaves a very key question.

"What is it you want? A reason to go back to the Qun? Or… a reason to leave it?"

That makes all the blood drain from Bull's face, and a sudden barrier just… he can feel it. Like the shuttered blinds that the Orlesians use to close the windows from the noon-day sun. It's there, like it's always there. The mental hand reaching for it, or maybe it's never a choice. Maybe it just falls down on its own. It's there. He knows it's there. But it isn't down, it's just… threatening.

Some thoughts are dangerous. Some thoughts… if you think them too long, then you…

Then you realise you don't know why you're doing what you're doing, not any more. You wake up one day – or you wake up one blood-spattered afternoon – and you know you're nothing.

No. Not…

Why would you keep doing it? Why? Why would you keep doing something when it's so patently wrong? Not that the Qun is _wholly_ wrong, but the bits that are?

"The… last time I felt like this…" He's not entirely here. "Seheron. Nine fucking years. You… you have no idea what it--" He also doesn't want to tell him. No one should know. No one should experience that. And yet, they all are, throwing people into that fucking melting pot of piss and death. "I went to the re-educators. They sent me here. If I go back again…"

They won't send him out. Not any more. People don't get re-educated twice, and he's clearly a liability. He's clearly… defective. He tried so damned hard to fit in, and do his duty, and he was _good_ at it. And now he's supposed to be _Tal-Vashoth_ , in actions, if not in mind, and how can you be that, and Qun? How can you marry those two? How can you act contrary to your nature, and according to your nature, and not get which is right messed up? You can't be both. Obedience to the Qun is obedience to the Qun. Or maybe he's just not… right.

 _I don't know_. It rattles around and around in his head. I don't know. I don't know. It isn't right. I'm not right. This isn't right. And his Chargers – and now this Vint mage – he could fucking end up being the death of all of them… and how can anyone who sends people into **Seheron** ever be people you want to follow? But he's fought against the traitors, the _Tal-Vashoth_ his whole damn life. If he's – if he is no different – then everything he's done…

Dorian can tell this is something he perhaps shouldn't have asked, but at the same time it's something he needs to know, at least a little. If Bull really wants to explore this thing between them – and Dorian believes him when he says he does – then the question of conflict is going to come up.

He puts a hand on the side of the other man's face. He's not the best person in the world to give advice on things like this, because his usual solution would be 'drink a lot and see if you've decided in the morning', and then 'repeat'.

But at the same time, he understands. He understands being brought up to be something, and then realising you're not it at all. He understands lingering loyalty towards where you came from, versus striking out alone towards who you really are. Of course he does. Otherwise he'd be back home, trying desperately to produce a child with Livia before they killed each other.

"You don't have to be who you've always been, you know," he says, carefully. "You can change. Sometimes… you need to."

Nine years on Seheron. Don't they normally pull people out after a couple? No wonder he's questioning things.

"I _hunted **Tal-Vashoth**_. I killed them. I had to, because they…" Seheron. Always fucking Seheron. Why was anyone that interested in a monumental sack of sand and shit? Why? What possible real use was it, other than to posture and fire up more hatred between both sides? It wasn't worth all that damned loss of years, loss of lives. 

"Tal-Vashoth… if you saw what they did… what we did to them… they poisoned **children**. The stuff I gave you? Worse. **Worse**. I'm – I couldn't – it…"

Children. You just couldn't do that. They were _innocent_. They were **_kids_**. 

And what's worse, he knows they were doing it to 'save' them from the Qun. He knows – in their own, messed up way – that those Tal-Vashoth did it because they thought it was preferable to rip your own eyeballs out in madness than it was to follow the Qun for a single day. 

" _I'm not like that_ ," he says, his voice hollow with how little he trusts what he's saying. I'm not. I'm not. I wouldn't do that. I couldn't do that… but he remembers what he **did** do, and suddenly he's going rigid, fighting between slamming all those memories and thoughts away, or letting the rage out, or…

Dorian grabs Bull's face in both hands, pressing their foreheads together. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little scared right now, but on the other hand, there's this feeling deep in his chest that makes him want to help. _Need_ to help. A feeling that understands what the other man is saying, even if only academically.

"You're right," he says, in the tone he keeps for when he's being _really_ serious. "You're not. Not everyone who fits a certain label is the same. I know what you must think of most people in Tevinter… yet here you are with me. Am I the same as them? I doubt you'd be here if I was. I… can only assume that you wanted this because I'm different, and I know you are too. And it's clearly not a new thing, if you've got a merry band of followers safely stashed somewhere, especially one that includes another of my countrymen and an Elven apostate."

He moves one hand to stroke over Bull's chest, over his heart. "You practically asked me to run away with you. Which means you want to run away with me." Which is a tautology, but one that needs to be highlighted.

Blood thunders in the Iron Bull's ears, and his horns feel like they've swollen to five times their normal size. He can smell it. The lingering gas. Maybe it did hit him on some level, too, when--

The things he saw… he'd wanted them gone. Gone. He wanted nearly a decade of his life gone. He'd put so much into it, so much of his heart and soul, that it had become a perverse need for it to be _worth_ having done it. But he'd wanted it to go away, and for it to be like it had been before… He'd prided himself on being stronger. He'd been able to cope. He'd been…

Why hadn't they ripped it out of his head? Why did he have to remember, every time some sound or phrase or the smell of a certain kind of bread hit his mind? 

Why couldn't they just burn it all out and he'd have been able to believe again? Why was it worth believing in the first place, if it asked that of you?

"I'm not…" Not… Not Qunari, not Tal-Vashoth, either. Asked by one to play the other, and believing neither. Except it wasn't true. If he wasn't one, then he had to be the other. He just… didn't want to…

Bull pushes a hand up Dorian's nape, buries his fingers in dark, soft hair. He's unmoored, and the tides might come and go, but they threaten to pull him into the empty ocean if he doesn't _hold on_ to something. 

Krem isn't bad, wrong, or any of that shit. Krem is great. (Krem also left Tevinter.) There's nothing wrong with Dalish. So it stands to reason that this man could also be… you know. Which means everything he's supposed to believe, has believed (did he ever believe?)

His fingers tighten harder, his broad chest all but trembling. Everything is so fucking dangerously sharp and thin. He could. He could throw Dorian over his shoulder, jump on the horse, and ride until they found his squad. They could just… say 'up yours' to the world, and… _be_. Other than the potential shit of the Darkspawn Magister, the world wouldn't end because of it. They could just…

"Kiss me," Bull says. Asks. Orders. Begs. Something a mix of all of them. Kiss me. Make it go away. Make it make sense. Make me think there's something more than I thought there could be. 

And Dorian does. It's the first time he's been the one to – technically – initiate, but there's no hesitation, and it's clear from the look in his eyes before he closes the gap between them that he really likes that hand in his hair. Especially when it tightens.

He's going to have a lot to think about after this. Beyond the obvious.

Right now, he concentrates on the kiss. He likes to think he's _good_ at kissing, and he hopes it will help the other man focus; or, at least, distract him for a long moment. And it is a _long_ moment: a firm, rough kiss that speaks of hope and desperation and fear and _wanting_ all at once.

"Sometimes when you find the right thing to do, you just know," he says, very softly, as the kiss breaks. "It's frightening. But you know in your heart that it's the only way."

Bull knows. Of course he knows. But he doesn't _want_ to know, because it's so damn terrifying. The Qun is… it's what he's believed and followed his whole life. It's everything he **was** for so long. Without it…

Before, he didn't have a 'life'. He only had the war. Then they sent him away, told him to make a 'life'. An existence. One that wasn't real, but it…

The Iron Bull. That's who he 'is'. It's not a nickname. Not given to him by anyone but himself. No one gave him the Chargers, either, and no one gave him Dorian. He found those. Made those. Built who and what he is, and even if it started out as another lie…

He… 

Bull pulls him back in for another kiss, his lips requesting more. He gently sucks Dorian's tongue into his mouth, and why is it so good? Why does he feel more naked like this, than he ever remembers feeling? Why does he _tell him these things_? 

"I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs, barely pulled back from the kiss. "Not because of who I am. I don't want you hurt. Or them. My guys. I want you safe. I don't… want the Qun to get anywhere near you. And if they poisoned my mind again… I'm afraid there wouldn't be anything left of me to know who you are." 

He pushes his nose alongside the other man's. "I don't want to go back. But I'm afraid they'll take me, anyway." 

Dorian smiles, and kisses him gently once more. And then he sits upright, so he's straddling the other man – completely naked but thoroughly unashamed – and slips the tiny key he's still holding into the lock on the cuffs binding his wrists, freeing them for the first time in days. He sets the cuffs aside – gently, to make it clear he's not trying to run – and then holds out his hands.

And the air _glows_. It's fire, but not in the elemental sense; at least, not really. It seems to swirl around him, behind him, above him, as though some invisible hand was painting it through the darkness, filling the clearing with flickering shadows. A light, a _power_ , that shines in his eyes, too, for just a moment.

When he speaks, he sounds different. The same man, yes, but _utterly_ sure, as though this is one area where he has no reservations. He doesn't. Magic is magic, and with it, he's a force to be reckoned with.

" _I won't let them_."

Bull isn't afraid. Not of Dorian, anyway. Should he be? There's an altus, son of a magister, unchained, unbound, untamed and right there on top of him. Damn-well _radiant_ in a haze of power. Power that's beyond his to understand, to wield, or control. 

Not without poisons, which he hates. Not without templars, which he's also growing to hate. And he's not even sure he should want to. 

Magic… it's about as evil as an axe is, or a sword. Dorian's never once – aside from when he was literally being _kidnapped_ – tried to hurt him with it. He's not evil. And right now, with the glow of sheer force around him… he's achingly beautiful. Bull can't help but gaze up in open admiration, his fingers drawn to whisps he can't touch. 

He'd do that? For him? When he dragged him from the road, poisoned his mind and body, and took away every ounce of his freedom? He'd fight for him? _For_ him. Not under him, or following him. It's… it hurts. Knife to the guts hurts. 

Bull grabs the amulet that swings around the mage's neck, tugs him in with it. Not forcing, not demanding, but asking him to bend, to meet him in another kiss. This one is not so sweet, but full of furious, terrified hunger and passion. He bites down, and forces his tongue in, a hand on his rump, nails crescenting into dark skin. He's suddenly aware he's as hard as he can remember being, and he's getting off on a _mage_ showing him how powerful he is. And he's _absolutely_ okay with that. 

He breaks the kiss, but doesn't let Dorian move away right off. There's an odd little growl in his voice again, and the shutters are pushed way back. "That's. So. Fucking. _Hot_." Oh, shit, yes it is. "I _want_ this. I want **you**." 

Dorian lets the light fade as he's pulled in (not wanting to accidentally set fire to something whilst he's distracted) but he can still feel the magic coursing through him as the other man kisses him like that. And he's relieved, in many ways, because he wasn't certain how Bull would react to that little display when he did it. Just that he wanted to make it clear he's far from helpless when that damn templar isn't around, and more than willing to fight for what matters. For what's _right_.

For what he wants. Because he's never been one to do something unless he wants to.

And then Bull speaks, and the arousal in his voice goes right through Dorian. He smiles again, clearly pleased. "You have me," he says. "You _had_ me quite thoroughly, in fact. And I'm still here."

"Want more." Bull kisses over his mouth and jaw, messy, hungry kisses. Kisses with a scrape of teeth, a hint of tongue. "Want everything you've fucking _got_." 

He moves his hand to curl over the globe of one butt-cheek, and slides a finger down through the crease, pushing up and into him again. "Want _all_ of you. **Fuck** , but you're… how hasn't someone taken you home? I'd build a fucking home just to take you _to_ it."

Bull starts to finger him again, one digit, then two. He's driven alright, and it's – weird. But he's drowning in this, and it does feel right. It makes his whole body sing, and makes his mind feel sharp, bright, focused, and dangerous. He's been craving this kind of sensation, chasing it with sticks, swords, drink, sex, blood… chasing fights, chasing fucks… but it's all been like tasting salt-water when you're dying of thirst. And now there's an ocean of wine, and he wants to swallow it all down and never, ever stop.

"Want you on my dick. Want you holding my horns, and riding me like your life depends on it. Fuck. If I'm… if I'm Tal-Vashoth, show me why I'm leaving everything I ever lived for behind…" 

Not that it's a fuck and his loyalty is gone. No. Screwing Dorian's brains out is a revelation in and of itself, physically and mentally, but finding someone who _knows_. Who _can_ know. Who… **understands** … neither of them fit where they were supposed to. But maybe they fit _here_ , instead. Bull bores into him with a ferocity he's not felt since… that day. But it isn't rage and fury and horror that's exploding out of him and taking over, it's… it's the _connection_. It's the compass needle suddenly realising North was over there, and refusing to ever forget. 

Dorian presses in closer, wanting those fingers deeper, harder, faster. His eyes are dark with pleasure; drunk on it, and clearly craving more. And he can't help liking the knowledge that he's helping Bull question his life, not because he enjoys seeing the other man in pain – he doesn't – but because he very much believes that people should be who they are.

And he likes who Bull is. Doesn't want him to be anyone else.

"If you want me, maybe you should take me," he says, with a grin. It's a terrible line, but he loves terrible lines, so he's not sorry. And he very much means it.

"I thought I already did. It wasn't clear enough? Or do I need to keep doing it, so you don't forget?" Bull slips two fingers in, then three. Dorian is already nicely stretched from before, but he likes using his hands. Likes the fine control he can have, without losing his head in the sensations too soon.

Bull removes his fingers, then grabs hold of Dorian's hips, and moves him up and over, so when he lowers him, his cheeks press back on his very-interested dick. Which means he can start to slide him up and down, gliding through that warm, still-slick space, using him to pretty much masturbate. "What does it take to convince you to _actually_ stay? Should I put a plug in you, after each time? Do I need to bugger you three times each day?"

He arches, to lightly bite at his throat. "…do you need… do you need all my secrets… because I have no door key, I have no land… you have my _names_. My secrets are all I have of my own, and you have the biggest two already." 

Dorian has plenty of wants. Being born and raised in Tevinter no doubt makes the list longer, but he'd likely be similar even if he was from somewhere else. He could talk at length about his wants. They are extensive.

But _needs_? Needs are deeper. Needs aren't things that make your life better. Needs are things that make it possible. That make it work, on a fundamental level.

What does he need? Acceptance of who he is. Tolerance of his little… foibles. Decent conversation. To be more than a convenience.

He's never had all four at once. But he's starting to believe he might have them now.

"I just need you," he answers, softly; with a tremor in his voice from the very, very lovely things Bull is doing to him. "You're the only person who's ever… treated me like _me_."

Damn, but that… _hurts_ to hear, and the flash of outrage on his behalf is in the tightening of his jaw, the hands gripping tighter on his hip-bones. The bar isn't set all that high, apparently, and he's… fortunate. And furious. 

"Then you'll just have to have **more** of it." He lifts Dorian up again, only to sink him down over his length, using gravity to assist as he sheathes himself to the balls. It makes his cock pulse and throb, and his jaw clench to ride out the ripple up his spine. "Didn't know you had _quite_ such a thing for being kidnapped, though. I mean, I could tell you were _interesting_ …"

But they should touch on that element, all the same. Especially if it's something Dorian enjoys on some level. "When we're somewhere safer… maybe I'll tie you down properly, and ravish you like you have no choice. When you know it's not really dangerous… I'll do what we **both** wanted. No templars, no magisters…"

Bull guides him up and down, his hands impossible to escape from, and the pace no faster than he sets, but punishingly firm. "Wild, Tal-Vashoth brute, wanting the fiercely self-reliant, cultured Tevinter altus… Ravaging his body… weakening his resolve… " He speeds the coupling, totally controlling the pace. "…fucking him to babbling, then curling up behind him to recite love poetry and promise to buy him whatever the fuck he wants… draw him scented baths and wash away the traces of passion ready for dinner… debate the finer points of political theory over a large quantity of alcohol, until the Tal-Vashoth has to shut his damn mouth up one way or another…"

There. Now he's said it. His gaze rakes over Dorian's face, wanting confirmation that he's read him right.

And that… what he wants is what the mage wants, too. 

"Oh. And the occasional adventure, saving the world, and sparring sessions that end up in more passionate sex. But I thought that might go without saying…"

It's hard to say what's turning Dorian on more right now: the vigorous fucking that he has little to no control over despite being – physically, at least – on top, or the other man spinning such a lovely, filthy, wicked little tale that is far too close to some of Dorian's past fantasies for him to resist. _Far_ too close. His already-dark eyes go black as the night, and he leans in, breath ragged as he speaks.

"Will you, now? And you think I'll allow that?"

He's trying to sound aloof, but his tone is less 'aloof' and more 'please do this as soon as possible'.

"Just imagine how persuasive you'll have to be. It could take hours…"

OK, Dorian, stop it now.

"It'd only take hours if I _wanted_ it to. Maybe I would… Maybe I'd wrestle the staff from your hands. You'd put up a fight, because you didn't want anyone – even me – even **yourself** to know your filthy little secret… you might claw at me, fling fire at me… just to see how _much_ I want you. See how far you can go, and I still. Won't. Stop…"

One foot plants on the ground, so he has more stability for the faster strokes, his chest rising faster as he clearly gets just as deeply into the fantasy.

"Oh, yeaaaah… fight until you're breathless, your cheeks red… your head dizzy… then pin you down and you won't be able to resist… or, you won't be able to make yourself resist…" He ruts up with his hips, angling to drive as deep as he can. "Your face flushed with the shame of being so. Fucking. _Needy_. Knowing you want to be used… but knowing you're being used by someone who _wants_ you. Wants **you**. Not the chase, but the quarry… wants to claim you and break you and release you only to claim you all over… wants you because you want him…"

Bull flips him, suddenly, so he's on his back again, with Bull between his thighs. Grabs his hands – fingers lacing before he slams them into the ground either side of his head. "Wants. **YOU**." 

_That_ makes Dorian's whole world go sideways, mentally as much as physically. " _FuckYES_!" he cries out, completely on instinct and – therefore – completely honestly. He does like that thought. He likes it a _lot_. Especially because he can tell that Bull means it, that it's not just about really, _really_ good sex.

It's deeper. He still isn't quite sure why Bull wants _him_ , but he trusts the man when he says it. And he supposes it must work the other way. They're an odd match, but… they fit.

He tries to push back against the hands holding him down, not because he in any way wants to break free, but because he wants to feel Bull working to stop him. To keep him here. To keep _him_.

"I won't make it easy for you," he gasps. "I won't just give in. You'll have to work for it… for every plea, for every concession… I'm not one to submit without a fight… or suitable _persuasion_."

" _That's why I want you_ ," Bull growls, lifting his hands only to slam them down so hard he must have bruised knuckles. His hands are so much bigger, but he loves the knowledge that just a breath away, this creature could all but bring a whole mountain down on his head. "Because you **fight**. Because you're _strong_. Because you could kick my ass one day, and me kick yours the next, but together _we could kick everyone's ass_."

He knows Dorian is powerful. He can see it, in the way the templar is terrified of him. In the way he's wandered around Thedas and only Bull and Harland combined could bring him down, and even then, only with luck and only until Bull _listened_ to him, and realised he didn't want to bring him down (in that way) at all. At. All.

"It isn't worth wanting if it isn't worth fighting for. And I'll be fighting the whole. Damn. Qun." Bull digs toes into the soil, and thrusts with all the strength in his core. He's glad he's in such good shape, because – damn – it's so rare he finds someone robust and eager enough to take his energy and passion. Or enough to _incite_ such a strong reaction in the first place. 

His neck cranes, and he pushes his forehead to the other's, his horns making a dead weight to pin him there, his huffed breath gusting over Dorian's face. "Can't. Take someone like you. For granted. Someone smart. Easily bored. So fast. Have to keep up. Have to keep dancing. Every fucking day. Use your body… flood your thoughts… convince your heart… mmmnnnnh… just don't expect me to fucking cook… or you'll leave me in a week…"

" _Ohyes_ ," Dorian gasps, rapidly going out of his brilliant mind. "Like that… _please_ … like that…"

His whole body is shaking – as much as is possible when so thoroughly pinned down – and Dorian doesn't know how much longer he's going to last, given that this is the second time he's been ravaged senseless in a very short space of time.

Summoning all the energy he's got left, he stares up at Bull, and the look in his own eyes is one of surrender. Actual, honest surrender: to this, to him, to the wonderful possibilities he's promising, and it's insane, and it's dangerous, and it's more right than anything else he knows.

Bull pulls people apart for a living, usually without them even knowing. Winds his fingers through their thoughts, pulls on strings, guides them, controls them. 

But that is nothing like this. Dorian _knows_ he's doing it. Bull outright told him. And he _consents_. He **yields**. This beautiful, incredible, amazingly powerful and universe-re-defining creature… and he _yields_. 

Witnessing it is precious, and Bull wants to commit every moment of it to his memory. The sounds, the scents, the way their bodies seem to just… snap into place… the way he's sure of _this_ like he knows he's been missing for longer than he could realise… He releases a hand, only to curl protectively around the back of the mage's neck and head, cradling so delicately even as he uses all his stamina to ram at that sweet point inside of him. His thumb glides over Dorian's ear, their eyes locked and unwavering. 

"I will take care of you, _kadan_." Bull has never used that term in this way before, but it's the only one he has, and it feels… right. Like it was shaped to cover Dorian. To wrap him in fine silk sheets and the softest fur rugs. To take every spat or hiss or fit. To cherish and defend and fight. Dorian fucking matters, and who the hell cares that he's a mage, or a Vint, or gay, or anything. He's _Dorian_ , and Bull is **besotted** and he's sure he'd give up nigh on anything if asked, just to see that happiness, that security, that… bliss on his face again. 

Bull tilts his face to kiss him again, mouth open to take the sighs and moans and share a breath that bounces between their lungs as his climax wracks his movements to stuttering. Kadan. My heart. No one is going to hurt his fucking mage ever, ever again. Not if Bull can help it. And he fucking well _can_. 

Dorian cries out as he falls apart in the other man's arms; the sound incomprehensible once more but most assuredly _very_ good. The pleasure of it all rips through him harder than it has any right to – given that this is not the first time tonight – and when he finally goes still, every last shred of resistance drops out of him and he's lying beneath Bull, drifting on slow waves of silken bliss.

His mind is… here, but not, and he feels better than he has in… certainly longer than he can remember.

" _Amatus_ ," he whispers. It just slips out, but the instant it does, he realises he means it. He's been a little scared of the thought since the moment Bull first called him _kadan_ , but right now, he's not scared at all. He just… knows it's true.

"You're worth any fight. You're _better_ than any fight." And Bull really enjoys them. He feels… sated. Weirdly. Not like when he's gotten laid before – even the good times – but it's like that, and someone taking a whole load of sticks, and a massive piss up, and a glorious fight and everyone in the tavern and none of that, at all, lights a candle to this. 

Bull thought he was looking for a _fight_. But he realises – hah – it wasn't that. He was looking for what he needed to fight _for_. 

He runs fingers where spine meets skull, finding the spot that makes Dorian melt and moan. Grips his hand tight, and pulls it in to kiss his knuckles, then keeps it in his own. He wants to stay connected as long as possible, listening to their breathing and heartbeats. Feeling the what-must-be-magic that winds around them. He's smiling. And it's the kind of smile he doesn't remember feeling on his face before, and it's embarrassing and great and he decides it would look better on Dorian, so he dips to kiss it onto his lips. 

Those bards – when not trying to kill you or steal your secrets – they were always singing about this shit. And Bull always figured it was hormonally charged breeding nonsense. But now he's certain it's some form of witchcraft, and he doesn't care. Not when he can kiss over his brow, and breathe in his hair, and wrap around him like a big, grey blanket. "You don't need me to protect you, or save you. I know that. But you have me, anyway." And – it seems – I have you. Dorian has been given every bit of leverage it's possible to have on him. He had to, or it wouldn't be fair. 

Or maybe the Vint is just a better _Hissrad_ than Bull is. In which case, he bows to the superior spy. There's no shame in admitting defeat, if your opponent is that good. 

Dorian just smiles back at him, his eyes hazy. Everything feels sort of distant and warm, and it's a bit like the really sweet spot between drunk and shitfaced, when you feel great and nothing really worries you because it's all _good_.

Except he won't get a hangover with this. Though he suspects he's going to be in pain of a different kind in the morning. Hiding _that_ from the templar will be fun. And oh, how he wishes he could just ask Bull to carry him off right now and never look back. He really does. But… his pesky conscience says otherwise. And his mouth says nothing at all, because it doesn't seem to be working quite right.

So he smiles some more, and tries to look endearing, and not – in fact – debauched out of his head. Somehow he doubts Bull will mind.

They stay like that for far, far too long. Bull has always been fond of physical contact of all kinds, but this is new, and he's determined to explore it properly. Little trails of fingers, or the press of sticky chests together. The twitch of Dorian's body around his, a distant buzz and a drawn-out satisfaction, like the long hours after a good meal. He tucks his new (first, only) mage in close, and rumbles in contentment. 

"You don't have spells – without blood magic – to make people confess their evil plans, do you? Templars, I mean…" Because. Life would be easier, if so. 

"…not without blood magic," Dorian murmurs, still very out of it. "Which I don't do, because… wrong… " A beat, whilst his mind ambles around before arriving at, "…can't you just hit him with a stick until he talks?"

It sounds like a good idea in his head. A very good idea. And something he'd like to watch, if not actively participate in.

"He'd talk. But pain isn't usually the best motivator for honesty. People tend to tell you what they think you want to hear… and it's usually difficult to verify what's said in time… you usually only get one shot at it." Bull says it entirely matter-of-factly. He has no issues with violence when required, especially if a person may deserve it. 

"Could you make him _think_ you'd got a spell to do it, or that you'd used blood magic, without actually doing it?" That would be different from straight-up violence and threat, if you could convince him when suggestible enough. "Like… tomato sauce magic?"

"Possibly," Dorian answers, "but I imagine it would be difficult to convince a templar. They're trained for this sort of thing. They know how to detect magic as well as counter it."

Which is Dorian-speak for 'he's been very horrible to me so you should hit him with a stick anyway'. Though he realises they can't _actually_ do that, but it's still nice to think about.

"What if we… set a time-limit?" Bull suggests. "Unless he escalates before, or we get what we need from him, and if it doesn't work…" He mimics said stick. "Except it's usually better with bare hands and/or a knife…" 

That makes Dorian's eyebrows go up. "You're serious? Well, we need him alive to lead us back to whoever sent him after me… but if you want to try a little forceful persuasion, I won't stop you."

"…it isn't… ideal… as a method of intelligence-gathering. But I'm…" Okay, why is he blushing? "I don't like how he treats you. And I don't want to put you in more danger than we need to."

And yep. I'm compromised entirely, totally, and utterly. Bull can see why the Qun beats all affection and – well – love out of their adherents. Divided loyalty indeed. 

"I'll play along with the ruse, as long as we can. But I don't… I don't want to do that any longer than is useful, and I can't say I won't want to smash his skull into a rock if he looks at you like he does." 

That makes Dorian feel oddly warm inside. He really isn't used to having someone look out for him like this.

"He's clearly been told to bring me in alive and – I'm guessing – intact. Otherwise I suspect he would have been distinctly more unpleasant to me by now. So you've probably got a little time to work with before you have to get all violently-protective…"

"Yeah, but there's a _lot_ you can do, and leave someone 'intact'." Bull wishes he wasn't imagining most of them right now, but he is. And it makes him feel very, very angry. 

"He's also taking cues from me. He knows he can't control you unless I co-operate, and – you may not have noticed – I haven't been exactly _approving_ of his suggestions for…" Things. Things that are one hundred percent not okay. 

Bull tucks Dorian's head under his chin, a little grumbling huff making his feelings on the matter known. "I told you from the start, and I meant it. I wasn't going to let him put a finger on you. But if he even thinks about it too hard, now… he might not have fingers _left_ to think about doing it **with**." 

"You're cute when you get all protective," Dorian says, fondly. "Give it a few minutes and maybe I'll find a way to thank you…"

They're going to have to go back to the camp eventually.

Eventually.


	5. Chapter 5

When Dorian wakes up the following morning, his first thought is that he's just had the _best_ dream.

His second thought is that it _wasn't_ a dream. It was real. And his third thought is something along the lines of 'owww'.

He's lying in his bedroll, at the camp. He only vaguely remembers coming back here, after the impromptu sparring match last night, which turned into… _how_ many times?

Well. _Well_. That's good, even for him.

He remembers Bull carrying him back here, blissfully happy and _very_ out of it, and the relief when they found the damn templar still asleep, and oblivious to what they'd been doing. Which… is an achievement, really, because neither of them is adept at being particularly quiet.

Right now, he lies very still, trying not to let on that he's awake. He feels _extremely_ good. Also, sore. But that will happen if you let a particularly large Qunari ream you open multiple times. _Firmly_. And… he's going to have to pretend he _hasn't_ just had a night of repeated, amazing sex, or the damn templar will realise something is going on.

He tries not to move too much, not wanting to give away the fact that he's awake until he knows that Bull is. Otherwise he'll just have to sit and watch Harland glaring at him with those hollow eyes which are clearly one step away from doing something _very_ unsavoury indeed, and he doesn't want that.

Bull can feel the light filtering through the trees, and he turns his face towards it like a delicate fucking flower, or something. He's aware he's happy, before he's aware of why. Just… some dark shadow gone, and a calm, fuzzy-soft feeling instead. He stretches, knowing he's not in danger, and then opens his eye and immediately finds where Dorian is pretending to sleep.

He's not as good at it as he thinks he is, or maybe Bull just… knows. 

Damn. There's a lingering, warm sensation between his legs. Half-interested, despite how many times he emptied his balls last night. He's pretty sure by round… three? Four? Three and a half? That it was dry, but it all just blurs into one lazy, bask-in-afterglow mush in his head. 

He's smiling. Harland is sharpening his sword, off to one side. Bull ignores him and makes a show of stretching again. A stretch that starts in his ass and goes out to toes and fingers in opposite directions, and does nothing to hide his bulk or strength. 

"We need to find somewhere with real beds, soon," he says, ensuring everyone knows he's awake. "Or I'm going to charge you expenses for getting someone to work on my back." 

"We should be at our destination within a few days," Padraig replies, easily. "Then you'll have enough coin for as many real beds as your heart desires."

"I hope whoever you're selling me to feels inclined the same way," Dorian murmurs, rolling (carefully) onto his back but not yet risking sitting up. "I'm so very done with sleeping on the ground."

This is entirely true, but it's also code for 'I would like to have sex in a bed now, please'. Except not _now_ , now, because ow. Except… OK, maybe that's not so much of a problem. How is his body still eager for anything beyond lying curled in a ball?

"Poor, spoilt Vint," Bull coos, as he rolls onto his side. He's half hard, and his trousers do nothing to hide it, and the mocking in his voice is softened by the wink and the smile he gives Dorian, where Harland can't possibly see. 

"Surprised you don't sleep on a bed literally made of slaves, so they can pull the covers up if you roll over too much. Your delicate skin doesn't know what to do without all those ointments and lotions, does it?" 

It is amazing how much you can flirt whilst being insulting. And the thought of rubbing Dorian down with scented oils and balms… maybe the mage's hands stroking his horns and… damn. If he's not careful, he's going to be too hard to piss. 

"Slaves aren't comfortable to lie on," is Dorian's response. He knows precisely what Bull is doing, and he can't quite decide whether it's very hot or very dangerous. Possibly the answer is 'yes'. "I do miss the lotions, though. The southern climate is _terrible_ for my skin, and a good massage really gets one going in the morning…"

"So you've tried it," is what Bull takes away from that. "Maybe you needed fatter slaves. Or just keep them in a box beside your over-sized bed." 

He very much wants to put his hands all over the man. Knead out those knots, put a few more in, see if he managed to lick everything out last night or not.

"No one has any sodding horn-balm here. I can handle the cold, but itchy horns?" He makes a show of flexing to rub his hands over them. 

"I've tried plenty of things," Dorian answers, as if he's trying to sound aloof again. "I'm very creative. Though you're right, my bed back home is _very_ big. You can comfortably fit four men in it. And I should know."

He tries to pretend he isn't watching Bull show off like that. Hopefully he looks more convincing than he feels, because right now he feels like he has 'I had a lot of sex last night' written across his forehead. In four different languages.

"Even numbers are usually better… though there gets to a point when it's diminishing returns." And the sudden flash in Bull's eyes… he's not averse to fun. And he's enjoying thinking of Dorian with other hands, with other dicks… but he's also feeling what must be jealousy for the first time.

It's an interesting, if unpleasant sensation. "And you'd have to always have the big bed. Or it would make travelling together difficult." 

Read: if you want that, it's a maybe, but it's one-off, not standard. 

And he's going to need to wank if they keep this up. He sucks his lip in, and then gets up with a satisfied grunt. "I'm going for a piss. Harland, get the kettle going, won't you? I won't be long." 

Dorian wasn't – for once – implying that he actually wants to have orgies as part of their relationship. Just that he _has_ done it. And it's weirdly pleasing to see the possessive, jealous edge in the other man; not because he's trying to hurt him, but because it's nice to still be wanted. Sometimes it goes away in the morning, after all, and though he never thought Bull would be like that, it's good to be right.

"You two are as bad as each other," Padraig declares, and then starts muttering what sounds suspiciously like the Chant of Light under his breath as he works.

Bull doesn't want to tug one off, not really. Well, his body clearly does, but it would be a waste of an orgasm, and one of those 'get it out of your system' wanks. 

And if he starts, he's going to want to run back and beat it off all over Dorian's pretty face. Give him a sticky necklace, or see how much he could fit in--

Ugh! Fucking templar. Bull hated him before, but now it's become almost a singular focus. That anger and disgust he'd wanted to be able to feel about a Vint mage is now completely honed in on the thing keeping him _away_ from the Vint mage. 

Pinching it won't help the arousal die down, and he doesn't really want to think about anything disgusting, so he grabs some cold water and pours it right over his cock, dousing it enough to get the morning cleanse done. Yeah. That's better.

Stupid Dorian with his stupid bed hair and his stupid sexy face. 

Maybe he should just not look at him for a few minutes? (Like that's going to happen.) He strolls back to the small camp, and scruffs the mage by his collar and hoists him upright. A little rough treatment to give an excuse to touch him, and to give Dorian a reason to hiss when he's moved. "Come on, little princeling. No one is cutting the crusts off your bread for you this morning." 

"That's good," Dorian grouses. "I wouldn't trust either of you with anything sharp. You might hurt yourselves."

He tries not to wince too much, but it's difficult, given everything they did last night. Under different circumstances, he's confident it would feel good, but right now he's working too hard to keep from giving anything away. And he can't help but think that Harland is acting more oblivious than he really is.

Or maybe that's just the paranoia talking.

"Well, unfortunately, the sharpest thing in this place is my tongue, followed shortly by my wits. And you can't take either of those from me." Oh, except you can, Bull purrs inside the safety of his own head. He absolutely can.

Bull drags Dorian with a mixture of careful and rough, then drops him onto his knees so at least he's not on his ass. Also because he looks good on his kn-- DAMNIT. 

"Breakfast?"

"Yes, please," Dorian replies, with an air of faux-graciousness that mostly hides any further wincing. "And then maybe a nice lie down with a good book. All this travelling is getting tiresome."

"For us as well," Padraig shoots across. "But don't you worry. This will all be over soon."

Dorian gives him a look that betrays an air of concern. "Why do you make that sound so much more sinister than it needs to?"

Padraig doesn't deign to answer this, but his expression says enough. More than enough. And none of it good.

"Where will you go first to spend your coin?" The Iron Bull asks as lightly as he can, grabbing himself a mug of tea (and adding too much sugar), and fighting the urge to make a second mug for Dorian. 

"I'm going to get _drunk_ , eat my own body-weight in sausages, and then get the biggest bed in the fanciest place I find." He really is trying not to flirt. It is not working. 

Did Dorian suck out all of his sense via his dick? Maybe so. 

"The Templar Order is going through some _internal changes_ in the wake of what happened in Kirkwall," Padraig answers. "A good friend and colleague of mine – Samson – is making a move to pull us all back together, so I'll be going to join him to assist in the next steps of the war against the mages. Most of the coin will go towards that… though I might enjoy myself a little on the way back."

The urge to ask the man what constitutes 'enjoying himself' is strong, but Dorian resists it.

"It was the Chantry that went…" a hand gesture meant to figuratively display what was actually a horrific incident, by all accounts. "Thought you guys had plenty of support."

Bull is particularly interested why they'd stoop to taking bounties from Tevinter, after all. "You need any names or feet on the ground, or ears at doors… I may know a few people. If you want me to point them your way…?"

He files the name Samson away for later. He knows some Marchers he can get more out of on that topic. 

"We're doing better than many would have you believe," Padraig replies. "But I will certainly keep your name in mind should we do any further outsourcing. You've been very effective."

Dorian is suddenly struck by the thought that 'internal changes' in the Templar Order, which correspond with them doing grunt-work for a Tevinter, could well be code for 'officially in league with the Venatori'. As in, not just taking their money, but actively assisting them. Which… is very, very bad.

He tries to keep his expression level. It isn't easy.

"And hey – you won't find much _qamek_ outside of Par Vollen. Just saying. I know you guys got the…" he gestures by circling a finger near a horn. "But if you need backup…"

Bull doesn't look at Dorian when he's saying this. Partially to keep himself from snapping, but also because he's pretty sure the mage will hear the undertones the templar will miss.

"Right." He grabs a hunk of bread, tosses it over to Dorian, planning on sneaking him better later on. "Get that down your neck. I want us near those beds as _soon_ as Qun-ly possible." 

"When I said you should buy me dinner first, this wasn't what I had in mind," Dorian drawls. He's been openly flirting this whole trip, after all, so no reason to stop now.

He has to pass the time somehow. And distraction is everything.

***

Before long, they're setting off again, continuing along the road to whatever destination lies ahead. Padraig still won't say, though it's clear they are getting close, which is quite a relief.

And… also not. Dorian is eager for this little adventure to end, so he can lose the templar, run off with Bull, and work out how they save the world in between having very creative sex. But this adventure ending means finding out who sent Padraig after him in the first place, which means it's not going to be pleasant, regardless of which possibility turns out to be correct.

They travel for much of the day across open moorlands, along a particularly remote road. Remote for a reason, in that it's known to be treacherous, but Padraig insists it's the quickest way.

Bull knows something is wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle as they walk through the roads that become increasingly well maintained. They're not far from actual places now, as they skirt around the edges of large farmsteads towards the villages and towns that cluster together for trade. 

The templar is… acting… too quiet. Not arguing enough. Not complaining enough. And Dorian isn't either, which is understandable, but it means he can't push for any details and he can't as easily cover over what he needs to hide. 

He's calculating the time and distance to the closest point of habitation when he hears the crackle of magic, and feels something hot and bright cut through the air. 

Bull has his axe in his hands at once, dropping instinctively into a threatening and steady stance, trying to position himself between the – ah – small group of marauding mages and the one who most certainly can't get hurt.

"HARLAND! AHEAD!" 

"Andraste's ass!" Harland curses, sword drawn and clearly thinking fast. "Can you handle them? One of us needs to watch our own damn mage."

"Hey, I can help," Dorian insists, completely serious for once. "Untie me. Let me fight."

"Not a chance," Harland throws back. "You'd probably ally with them and attack us!"

"Cut him loose," Bull snarls. "At least if he runs off, we can chase him down after, you don't want collateral damage and I could really use your help with these guys." 

"Look, I know you hate me, but I'd really rather not get killed by whoever this lot are," Dorian reasons. "So let me fight, and I give you my word not to turn on you."

Harland narrows his eyes, but there isn't time to argue. "Fine," he hisses. "But you try _anything_ , and I _will_ make you regret it."

"Yes, yes, you're terribly scary," Dorian drawls, though deep down he's aware the threat is very real, and very serious. "Now hurry up, and try to stand back. These fireballs can be a bit excitable."

Looking positively murderous, Harland moves to uncuff Dorian's wrists, and _oh_ , that is better. But what's even better is the shift in the air as the damn templar stops suppressing Dorian's magic, and the world just _floods_ back.

"Do try not to get killed," he says to Bull, in what is meant to sound like an offhand tone, but which is actually deathly serious. "This is just getting interesting…"

"Speak for yourself." Which is as overtly concerned as he dares to be. At least Dorian is now uncuffed and able to defend himself, which means Bull can pay a little more attention to the bandits currently trying to blast his horns off. 

_These_ guys suck. They don't even know him and they're trying to kill him! And without even saying hello! He roars out a challenge, and rushes headlong into the largest group of them, intent on getting into melee range, sweeping his axe at the furthest extension he can still control. 

"You want some Bull? You come and fucking _try me_!"

There's more of them than he expected, and some of them aren't mages, because there's a fast-darting one with silvery blades, and Bull uses the pommel of his weapon in retaliation as he feels the quick slice above his knee and hip. Fuckers. There's too many colours and explosions and not enough blood, and he sweeps one cut through an upper limb, even as he feels ice scald its way down his spine. He wants to keep an eye on Dorian – get close if he can, fight back to back – but the mage needs to stay ranged, and Bull needs everyone up close. So he's left with the agonising inability to watch him, especially because it's likely to be the hottest thing he's ever seen. As well as the most terrifying.

The smack to his lower back has him grunting, and he knows only the belt cinched tight keeps him from buckling under it, and where is that damn templar?

Dorian is not at all in favour of being attacked like this, but on the other hand it does give him a chance to finally let loose. And whilst he's not the sort to go looking for a fight, he's more than capable of having one if someone else initiates. Plus he's been wound-up all day, and if this is the only release he's getting for now, it will have to do.

Also he gets to show off a bit. Did he mention he likes to show off a bit? He does. Especially if Bull might see.

Fireballs fly in multiple directions, flooring one of their attackers and leaving another running around howling, and then Dorian decides to mix things up a little, sending a flurry of lightning bolts sparking out towards one of the guys who's getting too close for comfort. And _oh_ , this all feels so very _good_ , and… that's when he realises one of the bandits is dead, which is convenient if you happen to be a necromancer.

Now the air goes purple, lit with an ethereal glow that seems almost to have a weight to it… and the dead bandit slowly rises to his feet in a lilac haze, starting to attack his former allies. Which causes some undeniable screaming from several of said allies, who apparently aren't pleased to see their compatriot up and running, albeit with limited faculties.

Some people can be very ungrateful.

It's at this point that Dorian's brain processes an _absence_ that should have been ringing alarm bells all this time. Harland. Where is Harland? Where is the damn t–

The magic fades, the same second Dorian feels an armour-clad figure step in behind him, pressing a hand over his mouth.

"Let's leave him to it, shall we?" he says, voice heavy with menace. "I think you and I need a moment alone."

***

Undead. Really? Bull did _not_ know Dorian could do that, or – indeed – that he **would**. He watches as a resurrected body starts hacking at the enemies alongside him, unsure how he feels about it, and decides he'll process that later.

Like, when they're all dead later. 

There's an arrow glancing just above his patella, but he's moving far too fast for it to do anything but paint a bloody gash over his skin, and he really, really could do without worrying about his own side right now. This could even have been fun if not for--

Wait. 

Why aren't there any more fireballs coming? He liked those, when they were helping! And it meant that Dorian was--

Bull spins, leaving his back open to another sharp weapon, and he can't see Dorian _or_ Padraig and that is **so far beyond good** that it just…

The shutters go _down_. All the way down. There's nothing but shapes and targets, and there's no physical pain any more. Bull knows he has to eliminate the whole field of battle and _now_. Two heads drop with one swing, and he feels a spine crack in two under his elbow and they _all need to die right the goddamn hell NOW_.

" ** _DORIAN?!_** "

***

Padraig yanks Dorian away from the battle and off beyond the crags they were passing when they first saw the bandits. Without magic, it's a physical fight only and – given that he was taken by surprise – one Dorian is not going to win.

His heart is thundering in his chest. He knows Padraig is capable of a lot, and although he won't have long before Bull catches up to them, it might still be long enough for whatever he's planning.

_We had ways of dealing with mages like you, back in Kirkwall_. Dorian hasn't forgotten those words since Padraig said them, the day they captured him. And he's known all along what the man means. Since the incident in Kirkwall, the stories have been coming out thick and fast. Stories of life under an Order gone mad with power. Of abuses that don't bear repetition.

Finally, Padraig throws him to the ground, slamming him onto his back and pinning him down. Dorian tries to push him off, but the templar has his dagger to Dorian's neck in seconds, and he has no choice but to go still.

"You like it rough, don't you?" Padraig says, his voice low and deadly. "I thought as much the day we met, but you confirmed it last night. The _screams_ you two were making must have travelled miles. Even back at the camp, I could hear _every_ round. It really was rude of our Qunari friend not to share…"

"We didn't think you'd mind," Dorian manages. "And you needed your beauty sleep."

" _Quiet_ ," Padraig growls, pressing the dagger in harder. "If I could rely on that brute to get himself killed fighting those bandits, I'd take my time with you right now. But he _is_ very good with that axe of his, and from the sounds of things, he's probably winning. So let's make this quick…"

Keeping the blade in place, he reaches into the pouch on his belt with his free hand, pulling out a little bottle… and how he's managed to swipe it from Bull, Dorian doesn't have time to ask, because he's too busy being genuinely terrified.

It's the _qamek_.

"I thought you were supposed to bring me in alive?" Dorian says, quickly, trying to make it sound academic and not like he's begging for his life.

"I was," Padraig answers. "I'll get a lot less if I haul you in dead. But the _satisfaction_ will more than make up for the loss of coin."

"Don't do this," Dorian whispers. "Just run off with me now. Turn me in alive. I'll co-operate."

Padraig gives a soft laugh. "I'm tempted. But… no. No. I think I'd rather watch you die."

He flips the cork from the bottle with his thumb, yanks Dorian's mouth open with the hand still holding the dagger, and tips all of the _qamek_ in. And then he slams Dorian's mouth shut and holds it, pinching his nose so that he won't be able to hold out for long before the impulse to breathe overrides his need not to swallow.

Not that it makes much difference. The stuff is _poison_ , after all, and even a drop or two is enough to leave Dorian reeling in agony. The entire bottle has him choking in seconds, vaguely aware of an intense burning and waves of pain that defy description, and then the whole world goes black.

***

Bull doesn't know how many he's killed. It's stopped being any kind of thought. It's… the automatic reaction of survival, and it isn't even his own he's concerned with. 

He said he would protect Dorian, and he hasn't. Like he didn't protect his team on Seheron. Like…

There's half an arm still stuck on his axe as he runs in the direction of the trampled grass. There's no such thing as colour, or scent, or anything. Everything is pure, mechanical facts. 

The limb falls off when he shakes the great axe enough, and he's got it in position ready to swing. 

Signs of struggle here. Most likely direction there. No screaming, then there is screaming, and then he's able to see two humans on the ground, one on top of the other.

He doesn't need to think, or to judge. It's all done somewhere far away from his conscious mind, like the path the stars take year on year. Immutable, undeniable. Seven strides to reach them. Arm up to deflect the sword. It sinks in, twisted by his greave, hitting the bone and then his elbow follows through, smashing the templar's jaw and sending him flying.

Bull kicks his hand, sending the weapon clattering away, and he can _see_ the fear in those eyes, and he's too far gone to even enjoy it. The axe comes down into the middle of his breastplate, bending the metal and crunching ribs beneath it. He has to go fast, because he's aware he needs to get Dorian to a healer as soon as possible. No time to savour it. No time beyond him sinking to one knee, the axe still lodged into the cuirass. 

His knife. Flicked out into his left hand. 

" _Ashkost say hissra!_ " It's the only courtesy he gives him as he pushes the blade up and into Padraig's throat, and slashes through meat, sinew, and the last, gurgling gasp the templar makes. 

Bull doesn't even clean his knife, just shoves it into his boot and leaves his axe where it is. He's over the mage in moments, bloodied fingers pushed into his throat in an effort to make him vomit.

Poison. Badly. If he hadn't been dosing him with the antidote, he might already be too far. Bull throws Dorian over his shoulder, face down his back to urge more emesis, slapping him hard as he assesses the quickest route to a place he might find a healer. 

The horse wouldn't be fast enough, so he lowers his head and runs. 

***

Dorian stands on the edge of an abyss.

He's not sure how he got here. He's not sure where 'here' is.

He looks up, into a swirling green sky, dotted with floating islands of twisted rock. In the distance, in the centre, on the highest rock of all… a city with black walls, and black gates.

The Black City. He's in the Fade.

He's walked here before, of course, in dreams. All mages do, to some extent. But it feels different now… sharper, more _real_ , and he's not sure why. That shouldn't happen without taking lyrium, and he's sure he didn't do that.

He turns, and sees part of a vast hall. It looks like the debating chamber of the Imperial Senate, but with no roof, and as if it's growing out of the rock itself. Slowly, footsteps echoing in the stillness, he paces towards it, not sure why he's seeing this and needing to find out and…

…he's not alone. A figure steps from the shadows: a woman, tall and lithe, with skin that seems almost purple, and curved horns. She's wearing very little, save for some artfully-positioned scraps of silk, and a number of jewels that don't seem to have any visible means of holding them in place.

"Well, hello there," she says. "Aren't you the pretty one?"

"This isn't going to work," Dorian replies. "Girls don't do it for me."

The woman smiles and reality shifts… and suddenly she becomes a tall man, with the same purple skin and curved horns, and similarly limited attire.

"Is this more to your liking?" he asks, with a smile.

"Technically, yes," Dorian answers. "But I'm spoken for. And you're a demon."

"Does that matter?" the demon says. "This is the Fade. No one will know. I can give you _anything_ your heart desires. I can send you back into your world with the power to fix it. All you have to do is just… take me with you."

Dorian shakes his head. "I think not. I have a personal policy of never making deals with demons. It doesn't end well."

The demon smiles. "Perhaps you need a little motivation…"

And a figure strides out of the shadows. Padraig. Dorian tries to back away, but he suddenly can't move, and he tries to lift his hands to defend himself, but they're leaden. The templar – or whatever it is that looks like the templar – reaches out and grabs hold of him, and suddenly Dorian feels like his skin is on fire, and his throat is on fire, and everything burns, and…

…suddenly there's cool air on his face, and he's resting against a warm body, and he's aware of running… running…

"…where am… what's..?" he tries.

And he's gone again.


	6. Chapter 6

Bloodied, bruised and almost-unarmed Qunari rarely run into moderately sized hamlets close to the border of Tevinter. And if they do, they don't do it with a delirious and drooling apostate Tevinter mage thrown over their shoulder.

Usually.

Bull is painfully aware of how many eyes slide off him and how people make themselves as small as possible. Normally, he's fine with whatever people think of him, but right now he needs assistance, so he can't let them freak out and run.

He grabs a sleeve of someone trying to skitter away, his eye pleading. "I need a healer," he begs. He doesn't normally beg. He's more composed than this. 

"I-- I don't know--"

" _Vashedan_ , can't you see he's dying? Just tell me where to find a healer. I'll pay whatever they're asking! Just--"

The villager backs away, and Bull lets the fabric slide from his grip, feeling panic. Fear. Real fear, like he doesn't remember feeling in a very, very long time. 

He catches a person nodding towards the tavern. Go there. Yes. Okay. Bull dips his head slightly in thanks. Mages can't all go around being visible, still. 

It's early, but there's a few drinkers, and he sees the desire to reject him when he walks through the door. But maybe they think he'll be more trouble if they try, and they give him a room after a sizeable transfer of coins. 

Bull lowers Dorian onto the bed, and goes to the pitcher of water at once. He grabs a small facecloth and a towel, and he dabs at his lips first, wanting to make sure he doesn't choke him with water, but not wanting him to dehydrate, either. 

After a few minutes, there's a very hesitant knock at the door, and then it opens to admit a young man with dark hair. A young man who is very clearly a Tevinter mage, judging by the clothing he's wearing. He takes one look at Bull and goes pale, and then his eyes go to Dorian, and he looks like he might fall over.

"Is this..?" he starts out. "Are you the one they paid to bring him in?"

"You're behind this?" Bull moves at once, a heavy, Qunari barrier, ready to fucking charge. "You're the fucking Darkspawn worshipping _asshole_?"

He's clearly half a breath away from wreaking more bloody vengeance, although this time he might just go for that 'hit with a stick until they talk' before it's 'hit with a stick until he can't ever talk again'. 

"No, no!" the young man says quickly, holding up his hands. "I'm not, I promise, I…"

Even with Bull in his face, he can't take his eyes off Dorian. "My name is Felix Alexius. The one looking for Dorian is my father. But I'm not here to cause trouble. The innkeep said someone needed a healer, so I came and…" A pause, and a deep breath. "Will you let me help him? Please. I… I'm not a powerful mage, but I can manage some healing."

Alexius. That was one of the names on the list, which means he's decidedly in the know. But Bull reads people fast, and he can see the horror and worry on the young man's face. He's no warrior-mage, that's clear, and if he intended to do anything untoward, he's sure the boy wouldn't ask for permission. He'd be on fire, if he was that skilled.

"It's _qamek_ poisoning. I was dosing him with the antidote, but the bastard gave him too much… he ingested too much. Do what you can, but if you hurt him in _any_ way…" Bull doesn't need to finish that, because he's covered in blood (only some of which is his own) and he just grew nearly a foot taller by force of will alone. "You're not taking him. None of you." 

"I just want to help, I promise," Felix insists. "But you have to be careful. My father is here, and if he finds out Dorian is too… he'll take him. And I honestly don't know what his final plans are, but I know they're not good."

He hurries over to the bed, where Dorian is lying on his back, murmuring in some distant delirium and sheened with sweat. Hands out, Felix rests both palms on Dorian's chest, bowing his head and closing his eyes as if deep in concentration, and… after a few seconds, light shines beneath his fingertips, and Dorian draws a sudden gasp.

"Why are you protecting Dorian?" Felix now asks, without looking back; still focusing on what he's doing. "Weren't you hired to abduct him?"

"Sub-contracted," Bull points out. "And I don't like fucking **blood mages** and **demon shit**. And that's not him." It looks like Felix isn't, either. Two Vint mages now that he potentially doesn't hate.

Well, one is certain. This one is yet to be completely confirmed, but so far, he's making all the right noises. 

"Decided I preferred his plan." He's not about to admit to anything further, though he knows his furious protectiveness isn't exactly hiding how he feels at this moment in time. 

Bull walks to the window, the blinds mostly drawn, and he looks out through the slits. "If I need to get him out of here, you got any ideas on how? And how soon he can travel? Had to ditch the horse. I've got some coin, but not limitless." 

"I think I can counter the worst of the poison, but it will take time before he recovers," Felix answers. "As for travelling, it would be better if he didn't until he's a lot better, but that isn't going to be an option. You need to get him out of here as soon as he's safe to move, or you run the risk of him being discovered."

He reaches out a hand to Dorian's forehead, touching gently, and more of that light flares beneath his palm. "We're travelling with an entourage. My father, me, two subordinate members of… of his group… four advisors and four slaves. But we're quartered in an annexe on the other side of the tavern, so you might be able to sneak out when it's time."

"Gonna need a distraction. My kind aren't exactly unnoticed, this close to the Imperium. You reckon you can help with that?" 

Bull can tell he's helping, because Dorian's less troubled, if only slightly. He's clearly not out of the woods yet, and damnit, but he promised he wouldn't let that bastard hurt him! His knuckles crack with how tight his fists ball up. 

"He's… he's trying to save your blighted homeland, you know. Even after it turned on him. And he's not going to stop, no matter how far away I take him. So if you have _anything_ that will help him… and care for him half as much as it seems you do…" 

"Sounds like Dorian," Felix answers, with a fond little smile. "He's always been a much better man than he will admit in company. Somewhat… hot-headed… though. I've known him for years – ever since my father took him on as an apprentice – and he's gotten himself into all sorts of trouble. But this…"

He looks down. "I'll help you get him out, when it's time. And then you have to get him far away."

"Nothing would make me happier." He's gruff when he says it, but it's true. Bull pulls back from the window, and tilts to get a better look at the other Vint. 

"Guess there's more like him. Well. Not _quite_ like him." Bull sincerely doubts there's anyone even approaching Dorian Pavus in all of Thedas, but the 'not a total douchebag maleficar' type is more common. 

So. That means… "Thanks. He's… you know." Special. And Bull realises right now just how tired he is. And how much he aches. And how he jammed his knife back into his boot, still sticky with lyrium-addled templar blood. But he can't let his guard down, not until Dorian is fully safe. 

"How long before we can move him? I'll ride day and night. Get me the strongest mount you can find, and I won't stop until my horns freeze off, we're that far south." 

"I don't know for certain," Felix answers. "Maybe tomorrow. It depends on how he does overnight. Has he been properly conscious at any point or totally out of it? If he's still under, that's not the best sign, alth–"

He's interrupted as Dorian himself seems to jerk awake, blinking upwards in confusion.

"Felix? What are you..?" he tries, and then just sort of sinks back down. "Still dreaming…"

And off he drifts again.

"…That's a better sign than you might think," Felix insists. "It means his mind is still working, under it all."

Before he can stop himself, Bull places his hand over Dorian's forehead, ruffling into the sweat-clumped hair. "He won't go down without a fight. He'll get through this." 

But Bull needs to patch himself up, too. Nothing major (not for him, anyway), but if he has to fight for two, he needs to be in enough of a state to do it. 

"You got enough friends – or friends after payment – to keep us safe til morning?" He's asking a lot, he knows. But Dorian apparently inspires loyalty and dedication in people. He doesn't know if Felix was once his bedmate, and maybe he should be feeling jealous if so, but instead it's… relieving. There was at least one person in Tevinter who gave a shit about him. 

The adrenaline is slowly wearing off, and Bull hasn't quite engaged with the thinking bits of his reactions, yet, but his body is definitely demanding he repays the loan he took out. In full. With interest. He wants nothing more than to wash clean, and curl up with his – his – _kadan_ until he wakes up feeling better. 

He shouldn't show weakness, but he needs to. He needs Felix to understand just how much help they both need. "Can you do that? Change of clothes for him. Mount. Coin. Night to rest… I don't know what he was to you, but if you care for him a fraction of how much I think you do… I think you'll agree he's worth it." 

"He's always been a good friend," Felix answers. "We were like brothers." There's a hint in his voice that suggests maybe he wishes they'd been more than that, but only for a second.

"I'll see what I can do about supplies. Most of it shouldn't be too difficult, but getting you a horse will be tricky without my father realising something is going on. We've been here several days though, and I've been getting to know some of the locals, so I might… yes, I might be able to do it."

Bull claps his hand on the man's shoulder, then. Lowers his head to meet his eyes. "You ever need any help in return… you ask for Bull's Chargers. I'm trusting you not to tell that name to your father. But if you need them, you ask for them, and we'll come. No matter what. You understand?"

He knows the Chargers would follow anything he asked, but he knows full well that they understand what it's like to be… different. So not a one of them will judge another Vint or two. Or a mage. He's proud of that, if nothing else. 

"You're a good man, too. Don't stay longer with the people you shouldn't than you need to." He glances back at Dorian, as his chest tightens remembering the same advice given to him. "Life's too short for that shit. And now I need to wash the templar off me and him. There anything I should know not to do, or… do?" 

Mage stuff. Bull is aware that mages are… susceptible, after all, and he wants to do whatever he can to make sure Dorian's protected. Not that he can do anything about demons and Fade shit, but… well. His hands grind again, along with his teeth. 

Felix shakes his head. "Nothing specific. Just take care of him. You can talk to him if you want, but I don't know if he'll be aware of any of it. From what I've read, _qamek_ interferes with a mage's connection to the Fade, so whether he's breaking through that or not, I can't tell. But if he is, he'll be stronger there, so you shouldn't need to worry about anything… else… trying to come through."

He still looks concerned. "Don't be alarmed if he has periods of what looks like lucidity. He may not remember those afterwards, or he might recall bits of them. It's hard to predict. And… don't let him move around too much, if he does seem to wake. It'll be days before he really comes to."

A pause. Another nervous little breath. "And… thank you. For protecting him. I realise there must be a reason but… even so. Thank you."

Yeah, there's a reason. One big old reason, which is all the little reasons, but still the same one. Bull's smile is a little fractured, and he shrugs. "I told him I would. And I will. Nothing's getting to him without going through me…"

And then he tenses. "Not twice." He remembers the axe pushed so deep into a cuirass that he didn't even try to remove it. He's going to need to replace that, soon, but he can use what he has in the interim. "Alright. He'll know it was you. I'll tell him…" 

He needs the other man to leave, so he can finish cleaning up and rest. It's starting to become urgent, and he hates to let anyone see when he's that vulnerable. It just isn't safe to let anyone know you're exhausted. "Knock an old Vint lullaby when you're at the door."

"I will," Felix says. "I'll come back in the morning and bring you everything I can."

He rises to his feet, with a last look back at Dorian before he turns and leaves the room, opening the door slowly and peering out first, and then heading off once clearly satisfied it's safe.

On the bed, Dorian gives another little murmur, but no more.

Bull knows he has to do things as efficiently as possible. His mind is starting to shut down, going back into survival mode, but…

Talk to him. Will it help? Will he hear, wherever he is? 

Bull doesn't know. But it can't hurt. 

"Now, I'm gonna undress you, but only because you're in a shit state. And there won't be any funny business until you're awake to enjoy it, but just so you don't freak out." He makes as efficient work as he can, and… yeah. 

He's attractive, of course he is, but right now all Bull can see is a body with a mind trapped far from the surface, locked up as surely as any prison. It's just a frame when there's no mind there, and he has no interest in anything but caring for said frame to ensure it's fit for the mind when it comes back. He's at least not injured beyond a few scrapes and scratches, but he's muddy and bloody, and Bull wipes all that away. He tosses the top sheet and the clothes to the corner, and then eases Dorian under the remaining covers, propping him on his side, narrating as he goes. It keeps his own mind here as he functions.

"Didn't even clean my blade, you know. Tama would have my ass for that. _I_ should have my ass for that. And I left your staff. Sorry about that. Wasn't really thinking… hope it's not like a Qunari blade… don't think I can ask a _Taarbas_ to get it back… I'll buy you a better one…"

He cleans the knife, slips it back against his skin, and finishes patching what needs patching before he slips into the bed behind Dorian, an arm around his waist, face pushed into his neck. 

"I'm sorry I let him hurt you, _kadan_. I should have killed him when you asked. I won't let anything happen to you again. I swear. I'm not going anywhere…"

His words come between longer pauses, but eventually they drift off into nonsense, just quiet murmurs and then low, rumbling snores. 

***

Dorian blinks his eyes open in a confused haze. He doesn't know where he is, but it's dark, and warm, and… not on the road, then… wasn't he travelling? He has distant recollections of heading south through the Free Marches, and camping, and occasionally taverns, and…

…breathing, there's breathing, he's not alone, he…

He yelps, tries to leap out of bed, and promptly drops to the floor.

Bull startles upright, and is reaching for his knife immediately when he sees Dorian crumpled (and naked but for his underwear) in a heap on the floor.

"Kadan… did you hurt yourself? Are… are you alright?"

"You… what?" Dorian manages, clearly delirious. "You're… Qunari… why are we… why did you call me..?"

Some kind of instinct makes him raise a hand, trying to spellcast, but all he manages is a weird haze of light that sputters into nothingness after only a few seconds.

Shit. Bull tries not to let how much that hurts show, and he lifts his hands to show they're empty. "You know me, Dorian. I'm the Iron Bull. You were poisoned with _qamek_. Felix healed you… what's the last thing you remember?"

Should he get out of the bed, so Dorian can get back in without feeling threatened? "I won't hurt you. I'm trying to keep you safe." 

"I… travelling, on the road… sold that stupid horse," Dorian manages, not moving from where he is but not doing anything else either. "Have to go south. Have to stop Alexius from doing something terribly stupid…"

His mind is still reeling, pushing forward hazy images that could be dreams, or could be memories.

"…wait… did we… you and I… a clearing… there was a clearing in a forest, and… oh…"

Bull rarely blushes, but he does right now. "Yeah. Three times, four… I sort of lost count in the end…" He climbs backwards out of the bed, and offers his hand. "I'll take the floor if it's better for you. Felix said you needed to rest before we travel… need you to recover properly before you get back into the fight." 

At least his first, unconscious reaction wasn't to scream blue murder, Bull thinks. And to question, rather than assume the worst. It still stings a little that he's not properly remembering things, but… poison. It affects the mind, that shit. Badly. 

He's just glad Dorian's awake and remembers _anything_. 

"It was Alexius. Who sent the templar."

"He… what? He must really hate me…" Dorian murmurs, looking like he still isn't sure what they're talking about, but knows it isn't good.

He takes Bull's hand and lets the other man pull him to his feet, swaying more than a little, and Maker, he's tall… "Don't… don't go," he manages, not certain why he's saying it, but needing it regardless. "Please, I…"

And he just sort of drops forward into Bull's arms, mind starting to slip away again.

"I won't," Bull promises, pulling him bodily against his chest, making sure he doesn't fall. He scoops him up, as if he barely weighs a thing, sitting on the bed with Dorian across his lap. "I'm not going anywhere, not without you. I'll be here, _kadan_. I swear."

Bull grabs the blanket and pulls it around his mage, making sure he's held securely and safely, pushing his nose in to breathe in his hair. "It's going to be okay. You just need to heal up. No one's going to hurt you, I won't let them." 

"…good, that's good… very tired of all the hurt," Dorian murmurs, and curls in a little closer, chasing the comfort as he drifts off completely.

***

Felix is as good as his word, thankfully, and has the foresight to bring more than one set of clothes along with other supplies when he comes back. Bull changes Dorian into the most nondescript and travel-comfortable ones, and throws cloaks over them both to make them as unrecognisable as he can. 

The horse is a little on the older side, but it's a sturdy draft horse, and looks like it's seen battle before being put out to pasture. It easily takes both their weights, and Bull escapes with a hand over Dorian's mouth until they're away from the populace.

It's several days before he reaches the safe house, one where the friendly face is more than happy to immediately put the word out for Krem to bring the Chargers along.

Several days of fever-dreams and thrashing in the bedsheets, followed by rigors and tight embraces to keep him from hurting himself. Bowls of broth and chamber pots and Bull keeps himself going by telling Dorian all about his squad, and all about past adventures, and all about anything and everything he can think of. 

Sometimes Dorian is awake enough to join in. Sometimes he's annoyed. Sometimes he's weepy. Bull doesn't lose his patience, but he does lose a lot of sleep. Day and night become meaningless, switched for 'up' and 'down', and the intimate knowledge of what sounds Dorian makes when his dreams are less than pleasant. 

He always knows when he's about to wake up. Even if Bull himself is asleep, he can tell just before, and he stirs in readiness, unsure if he'll need to restrain a brief fit, or have more of a pleasant interaction. Bull squeezes the hand under his, murmuring the mage's name to reassure him as he comes around. 

Dorian slowly blinks his eyes open. His mind is hazy, but he feels like he's actually _awake_ , rather than just drifting in and out of awareness.

"Am I..? Is this… real..? Sometimes it's hard to tell…" he says.

"If it wasn't, I'm not sure what I'd say," Bull replies. "It's real to me, if that helps you." He wants to show affection, but it always pays to make sure Dorian's lucid enough beforehand. It's terrible, not knowing how he'll react. He hopes that won't last forever.

Bull runs his fingers over the ones under his own, the gesture soothing and slow, trying to ground him without being too pushy. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?" Do you remember me, yet? 

"No, no," Dorian answers. "This is nice…"

It is. He's been aware of Bull being _there_ many times over the last… howeverlong it's been. Aware of arms holding him, hands soothing him. Care and comfort he's not sure he deserves, but is ridiculously grateful to have received.

"Where are we?" he asks.

"Safehouse, in Nevarra. Closest place I had complete control over… they knew you'd been in the Marches, so I figured this was less likely to be on their shortlist." 

It's a good time, then, because he sounds calm and knows who he is. Good. Bull places a little kiss behind his ear, letting some of the knot in his chest unbind. "Been a few weeks since the attack. Dalish thinks you're through the worst of it, now." 

The pain and distress times have definitely been reducing, but Bull won't fully relax until Dorian's as snarky and mobile as when they first met. "My guys have been working on leads, though, so don't worry." 

"Weeks?" Dorian repeats. "I didn't… I thought… a few days at most…"

It's very unsettling, even for his still-hazy mind. He's still slowly putting the pieces of his memories back together – aware there are a lot of gaps – and then one in particular crosses his consciousness and he sits bolt-upright at once, eyes wild with alarm.

"The templar," he gasps. "The templar… he tried to kill me, he…"

His heart is suddenly racing. He's not used to being genuinely _scared_ , but he was that day, and the memory surges back like the backdraft from an inferno.

Bull reaches for his wrist, clasping it firmly, but not harshly, and gently tugs him to guide him back if he's ready.

"I know. I found him." Bull's voice is… gruff. And not entirely pleasant. "Caved his ribcage in. Slit his throat. It hurt him, I watched his eyes as he died. It **hurt**." It needed to. Bull is still furious beyond measure.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to you fast enough. The minute I realised…"

Dorian curls in again, not sure how to respond to this. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't relieved, though. The thought that the lunatic won't be coming after him any longer is a welcome one indeed.

"…you saved my life," he says, softly. "I can't thank you enough. I'm… sorry I let my guard down. Let him get to me."

" **No**." Bull holds his wrist harder. "No. You don't apologise, and you don't thank me. I _swore_ I wouldn't let him harm you, and I _failed_ you. This is because of me… but he won't ever. Hurt you. Or anyone else. Ever. **Again**."

Judging by the venom and fury in his tone, Bull is just as shaken as Dorian. "Kadan… I thought I lost you. I…" He barrels the other man into his chest, squeezing that little bit too tight. "You scared the _shit_ out of me." 

It really is _very_ nice to be the subject of all that defensive fury. Dorian almost wishes he'd been conscious enough to witness more of it, even though he's aware that the _un_ consciousness probably saved him from a mind-destroying level of pain.

He curls in tighter. He's not used to having someone just hold him like this, and it feels so very good.

"I'll try not to do that again," he says. "For both our sakes."

"Y-yeah. You do that. Already down one axe and one staff… uh. Krem and Dalish thought maybe you wouldn't be mad about that… I wasn't thinking when it happened… I just…" Went totally berserk, saw red, and ran for three hours flat out with you throwing up over my shoulder. 

Not the best war story to share with people. His knees bend as he pulls Dorian in closer, swooping round like one big, Qunari-shaped blanket. His hands never stop touching, as if it's needed to convince himself that Dorian's still here. 

"You were hot as hell before that, though. I just…" Nope. Tighter cuddle. His heart is pounding and he is so very not used to feeling this… compromised. But he's been solely responsible for him for weeks, and he was attached before that even happened, and now he's not going to let anyone alone in a room with Dorian for some time. "It. _Hurt_ ," he growls, again. "I made sure of it. And I – I did everything Felix said… just… _don't_ leave, okay? I mean… if I've pissed you off… if I can fix it…?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Dorian promises, with a tiny little shiver of happiness, because now he knows for sure that the good parts of his memories are real, and not just delirious dreams. "I promise, amatus."

That word again. It's been swirling around in his head, like a shield against the nightmares.

"Also… wait. _Wait_. Felix? You don't mean Felix _Alexius_? As in…"

Well, shit. He wanted to believe Alexius Senior wasn't behind all of this, but if Bull has crossed paths with his son, his father must have been close. They're rarely apart now, since… since the incident. And running into them would have been something of a coincidence, unless they were the very people Padraig had been heading towards.

Bull is probably only an ounce or two of pressure off cracking some ribs, but he's just so over-wrought that he has to hold him tighter still at the word, the term… the reassurance. He knows this isn't normal, even for southerners, but when have either of them ever been normal? Apparently not once. 

His nose smushes into Dorian's cheek as he kisses the corner of his mouth, and he bends his neck to rub a horn against his shoulder like an overly-affectionate mabari. He's just been wracked with so much guilt, and it helps lift some of it to know the mage isn't angry with him. 

"Y-yeah. He found us when I got to the village. Healed you, got us a ride, some clothes. Told me his father was there for you – and others – and to get you as far away as possible." Which means Dorian knows precisely who was after him, which is what they intended to find out. Not the end of it, but definitely a start. 

"I told him to ask for my guys, when he needs out. It's bad shit, but the Chargers are working on it, while you get your strength up. And if you so much as _think_ about getting back in on the action before you're healed, I _will_ tie you up, and it will not _all_ be enjoyable." 

"But some of it will be enjoyable," Dorian murmurs, happily, now remembering that, once he's recovered more, there's all _sorts_ of fun things they need to do. "I promise I'll stay put. Especially if you're going to dote over me like this. It's endearing."

He's worried about Felix, though. Whatever his father is involved in, Dorian is confident Felix will simply have been dragged along, and whilst he's sure Gereon would never actively harm his own son, his allies might have other ideas. Especially if they find out Felix helped Bull and Dorian to escape.

He can't do anything about that for the moment, though. Not when he's still so exhausted he can barely move.

"Well. Yeah. _Some_ of it will. Because you're a kinky little shit, and we have a _lot_ to catch up on." Bull tilts just that bit more, a harmless prod of horn-tip into his partner. "Both in the rope department _and_ the other stuff. You don't even **know** what I've been doing, and so I'll have to do it again, so I can get the credit."

He flips him, gently, so Dorian's on his back and Bull is straddling him. Playful, without any threat or aggression. "But if it's alright with you, you can wipe your own ass for a while, unless you _actually_ need help. I draw the line at literally being your slave, but the rest was fine, when I thought you weren't gonna go crazy, summon a demon, or die on me." 

Dorian smiles up at him. He probably couldn't resist even if he wanted to, but there's really no need. And oh, but he needs to get better faster. Maybe he can augment it with magic once he gets his strength back a bit.

"Difficult to summon a demon without preparation," he points out. "It's possible one was stalking me in the Fade, but it's also possible I was just delirious. Either way, you really shouldn't worry. As for going crazy, I shall do my best to avoid it."

He nods towards the door, which right now is an indication for the rest of the world, but the immediate locale most of all. "You said your people were here?"

"Yeah. Rotating shifts. Keeping watch outside as well. You can trust them… I trust them with my life, and yours." Which is saying something, apparently, because it took him a little while to calm down even when it was his own guys who showed up after being called for.

He might have been a little too-protective, until Krem smacked him over the horns. 

Bull had worried. About the dreams, the Fade, and all that. _Qamek_ tended to drive even non-mages to the edges of sanity, and the things he heard him say at times… they weren't all that great. "I can't protect you there. In the Fade. I just kept… talking. Felix said you might be able to hear me. Dunno if it was just to keep me sane." 

He places a kiss to Dorian's stubble-scruffy jaw, then turns to rub their cheeks together and enjoy the scratch. "They won't hang around inside if you don't want them to. Or… were you wanting an introduction?" 

"They matter to you," Dorian points out, gently. "I know that much already. So I'd like to meet them, yes… assuming they don't hate me or anything. But given they're _your_ people, I guess that's unlikely."

Plus, he likes people. Especially interesting ones. And he gets the feeling that anyone in the Iron Bull's mercenary company has to be interesting by default.

"Hate you?" Bull laughs, and it's a genuine laugh. "They've adopted you and they've only seen you drooling and snoring. Krem thought Andraste dropped you on my head to get me back to myself… you got no problem on that front." 

He kisses a little more, then works up to his mouth, and lightly nips at his lower lip. "You wanna grab a bath, then… maybe you feel up to breakfast with whoever's around?" 

Dorian smiles. "That sounds like an excellent idea."


	7. Chapter 7

A little while later – and feeling significantly better for the bath, and a change of clothes – Dorian follows Bull down to the kitchen of the safehouse. He's really rather hungry, which he's taking as a good sign.

"He lives," Krem says, rocking his chair back on two legs. His breastplate is off to one side, but as he's cleaning his sword on the table, it seems he's never far from his gear.

"Krem, play nice. This is one of your lot."

"Nice to properly meet you." Krem tips his head. "Cremisius. Chief's told us all about you."

"I said play _nice_ ," Bull says, fake-cuffing him near an ear. "Have you got any breakfast in this place? I could eat a horse."

"He's told me about you, too, though I think I may have been delirious for some of it," Dorian replies. "I understand I have you and your compatriots to thank for keeping Bull mostly-sane whilst I was out of it."

Standing for too long is still difficult, so he moves to the table, settling opposite Krem. Instinct makes him want to hide just how weak he's feeling, but he knows it's not necessary here. Or much use, considering that his condition has been pretty central to events of late.

Bull pushes the chair under for him, without thinking. And then he sees Krem smirking, and he glares. 

"Yeah, 'sane' is relative, for the Chief. We mostly just go with 'happy' being enough… Look in the cupboards, you lazy sod! What did your last slave die of?"

"Being uppity." Bull starts pulling together some of the bread and cheese, all the same. "Where's the fruits?"

"Larder."

"Don't know what's wrong with you," the Qunari grumbles, putting the first round of food in front of Dorian. "Whole damn country is cold enough to keep it in the kitchen… you stay out of trouble. Both of you."

As Bull goes searching for more food, Krem puts his sword down and leans conspiratorially over the table. "We should be thanking _you_. He was in a right state before he took off. Never seen him so wound. Least he reached out to us when he got here, and other than freaking out every time you shivered, he's been much better."

"He was… not in a good mental place, when we met," Dorian agrees, in between bites of what feels right now like the greatest breakfast in the world. "I thought it was just what he was like at first, but then I realised there was rather more going on. I think I might have helped with that. And he did save my life – twice, probably – so I owed him one."

A pause. Dorian's favourite topic of conversation is himself, but he knows the Chargers mean a great deal to Bull, so he wants to understand them better. And from what Bull has said, or implied, or both, Krem is the one he's closest to.

"I'm told you're one of my countrymen. I guess Bull is fonder of our people than he likes to admit."

"Well. Ones that run away, anyway. He doesn't like ones who fight just for the damn sake of it… but he's never had a problem with me. One of the few who didn't, if I'm honest." Krem rolls his shoulders. 

"Got kicked out of the army. They didn't take kindly to what they thought I was. Would've killed me, if it weren't for the Chief. So maybe he likes the ones who don't fit the mould. He won't admit it, but if he sees anyone abandoned for no good reason… well. You've seen for yourself, haven't you? Doesn't matter who you were, before. He didn't even know me, and he lost his eye saving me." 

"Ah, I see," Dorian says, understanding. He knows what it means to be different in Tevinter, and that it can lead to all sorts of unpleasantries. And it's probably for the best that Krem got out when he did, because things have gotten worse of late. "So now you're part of a merry band of folk doing good and putting the world to rights."

He gives a self-deprecating laugh. "I joke, but I approve. I got myself in this mess trying to do the same thing."

"Eh, we're mercs. We take paying jobs. Mostly good jobs, though. Chief's got enough of a name that we can pick and choose… apparently he's picked and chosen you. Which is funny. Normally he insists we get paid up front."

Krem taps his sword, then picks it up, sheathing it. "He won't charge you, though. Never seen him so fired up about anything but--"

"But what, oh Lieutenant, mine?"

"See you found the bananas."

Bull grins, and bites more than half off in one go, before tossing one to Krem, and placing a small pile of various fruits in front of Dorian. 

"Whatever he says, it was worse, and five times more fun." Bull takes the seat between the two of them, and then grabs a hunk of bread and slices some cheese to go with it. "And there's only two nugs down there. Don't you know this mage needs to eat?"

"I do, it's true," Dorian says, sagely. "I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks. And that lunatic templar was pretty much starving me before that, so I have a lot of catching up to do. Speaking of which, I do hope you've got a bottle or six of something nice for later. I think this might be the most sober I've been since I came of age…"

He tries to look endearing; like someone you would happily wine and dine right now, rather than putting him straight back to bed before sundown.

"No booze for you, not until you can walk straight _before_ it. Even if nothing else you do is straight." Bull adds that rapidly, rolling his remaining eye and then nudging his feet under the table with his own. "When you're fit for it, I will _absolutely_ get you drunker than you've ever been. You haven't lived if you haven't partied with a Qunari."

"Some don't manage to keep living after." Krem picks up his breastplate, and starts buckling it around his chest. "I'll send someone for supplies. Meat, ale, wine…?"

"No ale, no wine."

Dorian pouts. "Krem, you and I are going to be allies thanks to our shared heritage, so you should ignore Bull and bring me wine. Best you can get. Or spirits, spirits are good too. Something Antivan, perhaps, that brings back memories…"

He continues trying to look like someone who you cannot help but love. And do as he says.

"Krem," Bull continues, "I am the one who pays you, and just because this jumped up little Vint sparky is a heartbreaking piece of shit, I--"

Krem's hands lift up. "Hey, hey. I'm not getting involved in marital spats. You two can work that shit out on your own."

"So, it's a coup already?" Bull takes some grapes from Dorian's plate, one brow arching. "You think you can come in here and order my guys around?"

"Remember to shut the windows and lock the door, Chief." Exit stage Krem. 

"That was one time! And anyway, you might like everyone knowing what we're up to." Bull's head drops to one shoulder. "You weren't shy about it before. Krem's figured it out, but I didn't tell the others. Not… until you were ready to defend yourself, anyway." 

Which is totally not him checking up on what Dorian's plans are. Except it totally is, and he has only a small amount of shame about how he's doing it. And then, only because Dorian had literally been unconscious for most of the time here and doesn't even know the rest of his squad, yet. 

"Well, I don't want an _audience_ , if that's what you mean," Dorian replies, taking back one of his grapes from Bull's plate and eating it in a way that's borderline indecent. "But you don't have to keep me a secret. I'm hard to keep a secret."

He grins. "You brought me home to your family. I'm touched. Pray I never return the favour…"

"Hey, I'll visit your family. And I'll tell them exactly… what I'm doing… to their handsome, smart, brave and _deviant_ little boy…" Bull's hand under the table moves to a knee, and pushes slightly upwards. "And then I'll cut the tongues out of any of them that _dare_ say anything but 'Congratulations'…"

Bull picks up a berry with his other hand, and draws it over Dorian's lips before pushing it (and the tip of his thumb) inside. "And good. You talking about your big bed and all the men you invited in… I like to think I can do the job of three guys… so you shouldn't need to open the door. And I _do_ take up a lot of room…" He plucks at Dorian's lip with his thumb, then moves it to his own mouth to lick clean. 

I don't want to share. I don't want to let anyone else touch you. It's there in the tightening around his face, the hand that glances up to the crease of his thigh, testing his response. "They won't complain if they hear us." 

"Oh, don't you worry," Dorian replies, his tone easy but honest. "That was just my wild youth. I'm very sensible now. One extremely enthusiastic Qunari will be _more_ than sufficient…"

He grins again, pleased by the contact and very much wishing he could recover faster from nearly being poisoned to death. "Aren't you supposed to be wrapping me in blankets and feeding me soup?" he says, in what is evidently supposed to be an innocent voice.

"Blankets I can do. And soup?" His hand runs knuckles over his groin, the contact rasping and slight. "You still hungry? Because I got more than enough soup for you."

Alright, so it's not that sophisticated, but Bull doesn't care. He surges forwards, grabbing Dorian's chin and holding him in place to kiss. A firm lick of tongue to widen his smile, and then he's tasting the berries and bread, his fingers turning to cup his crotch over his trousers and knead at the stirring he can feel. 

And then he's picking the other man up, and sweeping everything from the table to push him down onto his back and carry on the kissing. One knee pushes his legs apart and grinds, while he clutches hair and keeps his head in place for more of said kisses, and a hand under one thigh. "Tell me to stop," he snarls, into the bent-back throat. "Tell me to stop and I will." And he would. "If you don't… I'm going to take you to that bed and show you that you really _are_ mine." He doesn't bring just anyone here, after all. In fact, Dorian is most certainly the first (and last). 

A person ruled by common sense probably _would_ tell him to stop. Not because they didn't want, but because they've only been conscious a short time after days and days of poison-induced delirium. It has, however, been said on many occasions that Dorian Pavus is _not_ a man ruled by common sense.

"Don't stop," he gasps. "Don't you dare stop. I need you _right fucking now_."

He can worry about the consequences _after_ the violent sex. A man has to have priorities, and right now they involve a significant level of ravishment. So he wraps his legs around Bull's waist and holds on tight, and tries to grind against him as much as possible, in case he somehow needs more encouragement. Which is unlikely.

That's just… beyond hot. Bull grabs the front of Dorian's shirt, using it and the legs around him to hoist him upwards off the table. He doesn't want to wear out what strength the man's regained, so he then supports under his ass and between his shoulderblades. 

He may, of course, be showing off just how strong he is. And also, he's been not only celibate but entirely uninterested until now. Sick Dorian means worried Bull. Back-to-almost-himself-Dorian is a very different Bull. 

"You show me you're fit enough, I'll give you all the expensive wine you want," he promises, carrying him back the short distance to the bedroom, and tossing him effortlessly into the nest of pillows and various blankets he's been smothering him with for days, now. 

"Man like you… should be treated like a prince, and fucked like a whore." Bull slams his hands onto Dorian's belt, and slices it out of the way. He's not wearing quite as complicated an outfit as he probably would like, but Bull's been the one mostly dressing him, and buckles are fucking annoying when they're just for show. 

He rips the trousers from him, and grabs both ankles and hoists them up, leaving Dorian balanced on his shoulders as he bites and suckles on his bare thighs. "But not like a whore. No. Used. Abused. Hard, hungry… and held together after, when you're ripped open and shaking… I won't hurt you. Not in ways you won't _love_. And I won't leave you, even when you're drained and dry…" He keeps Dorian in the awkwardly inverted position, but then pushes his lips down over his cock, taking him past his teeth and onto his tongue to gulp and slurp him eagerly down.

The rough treatment is _exactly_ what Dorian needs right now, partly because it feels _sofuckinggood_ , and partly because it makes him feel _alive_ , and he's well-aware he almost wasn't. Almost, but for the man currently going down on him with abandon, which has Dorian ready to scream the roof off in little more than a minute.

" _Yes_!" he cries, which is a sound that's going to travel. "Yes… fuck, don't stop, don't stop… show me what you're _really_ capable of."

He's aware this would be a dangerous thing to ask, even if he was in the very best of health. But he does have a tendency to think with his dick when an _extremely_ powerful man is doing _that_ to it.

Bull smiles, and pushes his head down, letting Dorian all the way to the back of his throat. Which is sort of cheating when you're a Qunari and your bedmate isn't, but Bull believes in using his talents for the greater good. Which includes upending your boyfriend and riding your face over his genitals and barely remembering to breathe. He glances over Dorian's heaving abdomen and chest, and then uses his fingers to press firmly on his taint, looking for the nub inside him and using his chin to squish his balls into him. 

He knows Dorian isn't in peak form, and he knows he's going hard and fast instead of finessing this, but he doesn't want to wear him out with hours upon hours of foreplay when he's still recovering. Instead, he's intent on forcing every last shudder from him so he's nicely pliant and sleepy. They didn't get to enjoy the afterwards enough the first time, unless you count all the nursemaiding shortly after. 

Plus. He likes to show off.

Bull grabs Dorian's balls and twists, then slams his fist behind them as he swallows as hard as he can. He lets the very faintest hint of teeth snick over the thick cock, and _growls_ to let him know he's **wanted**. 

Dorian _howls_ at that, somehow managing to arch more despite the position he's in. He's vaguely aware that he really isn't going to last long, given the fact that he's hardly at his best, and given just how enthusiastic Bull is right now.

But it's good. _Very_ good. To be worth the attention. To be worth having waited days for. He's not quite sure what he did to deserve it, but he's determined to show his appreciation when he can.

For now, all he can do is _take_ , and revel in the waves of bliss, and try to resist the instinctive urge to plead for mercy because he _really_ doesn't want it.

" _Yes_ ," he gasps again, "don't stop… please don't stop… you're going to break me but _don't stop_ …"

Bull fully intends on breaking him. Breaking him in, and shaping him to fit only his hands, only his arms, only his lap. He tastes of desperate, long-subdued lust. Of days of aching rest, and years of frustrated existing. 

If the bed isn't nearly breaking, he's not doing his job right. 

Firm, grey fingers cup his balls, and his thumb slides up behind, and pushes at his hole. He feels the way it makes his calves spasm, and he redoubles his efforts, lips in a knot over the shaft he's massaging with each lift of his head. He purrs, then his free hand bends into a claw, and he rakes over Dorian's chest in sharp, stinging lines that _will_ mark. 

His thumb twists in as his fingers scrunch harder, and he starts to swallow to milk the length that's hitting his throat and stays there, trying to take him over the edge with brute force. 

Dorian nigh-on screams as his climax hits, hot and rough and making him feel as though every last scrap of sensation is converging on his heavily over-stimulated cock. He comes like it's been even longer than it _has_ been; body shaking in the other man's grip until there's nothing left in him and _Maker_ , he's exhausted and it's _soverygood_.

" _Amatus_ ," he breathes, when he can manage to make a sound, though it's more of a feeling than a word right now: an awareness that this is _real_ , that Bull saved his life and wants him and _still_ wants him, and he's almost giddy with it.

Once he's coasting the aftershocks, Bull is more careful. He works to swallow the release, not wanting to waste any, and holds his ass more gently as he guides him down properly onto the bed. 

It's always nicer, after the first round, Bull thinks to himself. Fuzzy and sticky and wobbly. He climbs up onto the bed, propping his head up on one hand, and bending one knee to let his own body say all it needs to. He's not in an immediate rush now he's made Dorian climax, and he licks his lips very languorously as he draws his fingers over the mage's belly. 

"You taste _good_ , kadan. I could get used to that." He runs a rough fingertip below the still-pink head of his dick. "Thought you'd feel better if we got that done." That, of course, being round one, or… point five. "Don't think I should split you or shatter you when you're still healing… but there's _more_ than that we can get up to. And I like pretty much all of it." 

"Mmmmm… you promise such lovely things…" Dorian murmurs, beaming at him. "You should make me get better faster, so we can do them all. And you're going to have to let me return the favour. I'm sure you'll like it…"

Right now, he can barely lift his head, but that's because the aftershocks are still slowly washing through him, his skin hypersensitive to every touch. It's honestly incredible. He's had a lot of sex in his life, but he's certain it's _never_ been this good.

"Have to say, I was hoping you might show me a few magic tricks with those hands and mouth of yours…" Bull leans in, licking a brief, salty kiss into his mouth. "And then I want to wrap you in those blankets and _sleep_." 

Really sleep. Like Dorian hasn't been on death's doorstep, tugging at the veil ready to run away for good. Like there's no stupid cults outside, and like they're just two guys who…

"I told you. I want those other dumb things. And I meant it. Might not get them all the time, but… you deserve a break. So. Least for a few days… until you're too bored to sit still, or your ass hurts too much…" 

Bull isn't the 'settle down in a house' type, not really. He knows that. But he thinks maybe he can be a 'between adventures, settle down' type. Which could be the best of both worlds? Maybe? 

He reaches for Dorian's hand, gently pulling it towards his crotch. "I'll even get books. And wine." 

That makes Dorian smile again, and slowly start to climb on top of him, working on getting the other man's clothing out of the way in the process.

"Magic tricks, you say?" he remarks, and there's a spark in his eyes now that might not just be metaphorical. "Allow me to demonstrate…"

He wraps a hand around Bull's very enthusiastic cock, holding firmly but not yet stroking him, and rests his other hand a little higher up, against his belly. A few soft kisses to his skin… and then there's a sudden wave of _static_ from both hands: not nearly enough to hurt, but certainly enough to be felt.

It's a popular trick in Tevinter, but it tends to take people from elsewhere by surprise the first time. And he does oh-so-want a reaction before he really gets going.

" ** _Nehraa defransdim_**!" Bull's hips jerk upwards, his hands clawing at the sheets in shock. It didn't hurt, but how in the hell do Vints ever get anything done if they can jerk off like that? 

His jaw snaps at the air in open shock, and he grabs Dorian's elbow, snapping their eyes to lock. "Do that again." Because, yes. Bull likes that, and maybe he should not be so excited and eager to allow a mage to do weird shit to his body, but considering he's got the physical side of things locked down… and the part where apparently he's utterly head over heels for him…

"Uhn… don't hold back on the… you wanna do something? Do it." 

Well. It's not like he's at all able to pretend he isn't madly in love. (Tal-Vashoth.) You don't carry someone around for days and feed and bathe and fret over them if you don't. Or bring them home to your family. 

He's used to doing all sorts of things in bed, but letting magic – and free rein – loose in the room? That's absolutely new, and he's going to do his damndest to not freak out about it. "…even if I don't look sure." I trust you. 

Dorian looks extremely pleased with himself, but very fond at the same time. And grateful too, because he knows that, up until very recently, Bull would likely have taken the head off anyone who tried doing that to him, and he knows what the affirmation of trust really means.

"I hoped you might like that," he says, and promptly does it again; but for longer this time and giving the other man's cock a few rough strokes in unison. He has enough experience at this to pace it so it feels _really_ good without hurting… though that's not to say he _can't_ make it hurt. Just that he won't right now.

And then he slides a little lower, moving both hands to rest on Bull's hips and giving his cock a long, lingering lick before taking him deep, starting to suck slow and rhythmic, and very much in time with the renewed pulses of magic alternating from each palm.

Showing off? Him? Surely not.

"Hnnnngh, yeah, only 'cause it's you." He already told him he's never bedded a mage before. Many reasons, really, and now Bull's glad he hasn't because this all gets to be new. He drops his head back, and moans very appreciatively, pawing at whatever he can reach to express his enjoyment. If the twitching in his lap isn't proof enough.

Then there's warm, clever mouth and the only downside to it is that now Dorian can't talk, but when he's doing that it's forgivable. He cradles the back of his neck, teasing at an earlobe and letting his lover take the lead for once. He figures he's due a little pampering, after all.

"Oh, oh yeah… oh _yeah_ , just like that… **fuck** but I love everything you do with your mouth… oh, there… mmmmn, so good…" 

His knees pull up, folding out, stopping himself from just rutting up too hard and giving him more room to work with. One horn notches into the headboard, scratching at the wood, and he reaches up with his other hand to simply hold on. " _Fuck_ but you can do that again… you're not leaving this house until both our dicks drop off… or you set it on fire…" 

That makes Dorian lift his head just for a moment, with a hazy, pleasure-heavy smile on his face. "I'm sure I can manage both," he says, and promptly goes back to what he was doing with abandon. He _has_ caused small fires on occasion before, but never enough to burn down a building. Well. Not if you deal with them in time.

He's a man who wears his emotions clear and large, after all. And sometimes those emotions are flammable.

One hand starts slowly sliding downwards again, the sparks diminishing as though he's stopping… which means they'll be felt all the more intensely when he starts dragging fingertips over the other man's balls, whilst speeding up the attention to his cock. Chasing a result, yes, but wanting to make it _good_.

" **SHIT** DAMN FUCK YES!" Bull's heels move to plant on the bed, and now he's really yanking on the headboard as he can't help but ride the waves of pleasure emanating from his groin. He wants it closer, harder, sharper, brighter… and having to lie back and mostly let Dorian lead is driving him out of his damn mind. 

He's trying to bounce between his hand and mouth, and the wood he's holding onto is protesting intensely. It was made to be sturdy, but when a Qunari of Bull's strength starts to really get going, there's not much that a dead tree can do. His eye is jammed shut as he tenses from horns to toes, and he's biting his lip nearly raw between yelps and cursed praise. 

It's nearly enough, it's so close… but he wants just… "Do – do that to my ass," he – asks? Begs? Pleads? He has no shame about liking stimulation of any kind, except, it seems, magical. Which is somehow transgressive in all the right ways, and has his thighs bunched in almost-there frustration. "Nnnngh… s'fine if you s-sssspit…" 

Bull feels it's important to say that, with what little remains of his mind, so Dorian doesn't feel compelled to take what isn't a small load, all things considered. "GMMMMMNNNNNNHHH!" 

_Fuck_ , but it feels good to get a reaction like that out of the other man, especially when Dorian knows he himself is not even at his best. Imagine what they can do when he is…

For now, he doesn't need asking twice – though it's not something he would have done the first time without checking – and he slides the hand from Bull's balls and further back, circling his hole with a fingertip and trailing more of those sparks in the process; around and around and… pushing in, slow and careful at first, but soon building up a rhythm.

It feels so damn good to do this, to feel how it makes Bull respond. To know that there's still a trick or two that the world-wise Qunari doesn't know just yet. And given how creative he clearly is, Dorian knows he'll have to work hard to keep up.

But he does like a challenge. Especially one as hot as this.

The headboard snaps, splintering in his hand, as Bull loses the ability to even make noises. It's like five different orgasms are hitting all at once, or one after the other, or something that explodes like the magic he's seen in battle, but not in bed before. He lifts his hips entirely off the bed, then slams down and squirms desperately on that finger. 

It's so, so wrong and it feels so, so, SO good. Bull's thighs clamp shut around Dorian's ears as he bucks, the pleasure just the right side of too much, but not quite there enough to spoil, and he's howling in relief.

That is **so** much better than being hit with sticks. So, so much better. He's aware he's spilled, but then it seems to drag on and out and his toes are curled as he's left panting and floaty, the snap having loosened something he didn't know was tied up. 

For once, he doesn't immediately talk. Or even smile. He's just… breathing, and letting the sensations happen. 

Dorian licks his lips far more delicately than he has any right to, and climbs up Bull just far enough to drop down against his chest. He feels very tired – the lingering echoes of his own climax mixing with the aftermath of maintaining the active magic as long as he did – and _very_ good.

"Thought you might like that," he says, smug but extremely warm. "I do so enjoy being right."

He curls in closer, stroking gently over Bull's skin, just letting him enjoy the feeling. And trying not to worry about whether the bed is going to collapse.

"Mmmnh," Bull agrees, intelligently, managing enough wherewithal to settle Dorian where he needs him. His balls are still throbbing with every beat of his heart, his butt achingly trying to work around something that's no longer there. He's very happily spent, and so he wants nothing more than to pull his mage in to touch as much skin to skin as he can. 

"Did… good." He manages to vaguely gesture a thumb in the skyward direction. "Worth the wait. All of them." He starts to trail very hazy kisses across the other man's brow, and wraps limbs between limbs and bends and joins. "When you're back to full strength… bam. Gonna… need a continent of our own… mmmmnnnhhh." 

Yup. Definitely better than just… sex-sex. Much better. It's a harsh harness around his ribs, but it's the only way not to float into the aether forever. "Dorian?" 

"Yes, amatus?" Dorian answers, softly, letting Bull hold him as tight as he wants; loving the feeling of _rightness_ it sends racing through him.

"Two things… first… I don't think I should… leave the Ben-Hassrath… not until I have to… because the things I can use the network for… useful…" But it's a 'yet'. It's not a 'no' or a 'never'. He's not sure if he could play at spying but double-cross (or is it triple-cross, now?) forever, but he's certain his priorities don't lie in Par Vollen. Or the Qun. "Find out things on your Venatori. Use them…"

"I know," Dorian says. "And I agree. Much as it worries me… it's likely to give you access to information we can use. And I'm sure you'll be able to keep me a secret, at least for the time being."

Not forever, though. But they'll have to deal with that when it happens.

"They'd approve, actually, if it was simply for information. See you as an asset. Something I could use until no longer useful." It feels like ash on his tongue saying that, and he makes it more than clear when he does. Bull doesn't agree. He doesn't want that. 

So he glances down, then away. "But I won't. I mean: you're not. You know that thing humans do that Qunari don't?" 

Dorian kisses gently up Bull's chest, moving so that they're face-to-face. "You mean _relationships_?" he asks, tone soft. Understanding. And why is it harder to say the word in Common than it is in Tevene?

Maybe because it feels even more real. Something he never expected to find when he left home, and fell into by accident. Good accident.

"Y-yeah, but – not just that." The Qunari holds the other's face in his hand, eyes pained and troubled and damn, but he wants to say things, but he doesn't… how can he? They don't know each other, or they shouldn't, and it feels instead like Dorian is the only one who possibly ever could know him. And the only one he wants to let know him. 

"How… how do you know? I mean… what if I think it, but it's because I don't know?" He shuffles to let Dorian settle as comfortably as he can. "It feels like it is, and like… like it couldn't ever stop. But how do you _know_? Am I going to say it one day and you'll laugh and tell me I'm stupid? Because I think I do. And…"

He's clearly struggling, and he doesn't like admitting when he is. "If I ever say it, will you laugh?" Every single word is like pulling out an arrow, ripping already-injured flesh wider open. "Because when I thought I lost you…" 

"I'd never laugh," Dorian says, in his most serious tone, leaning into Bull's hand. "And as for how you know… I think you just _do_. I mean… I've never… not before. There have been possibilities, but not…"

He goes quiet, aware he's talking around the word without saying it. And scared, not because he thinks it isn't true, but because despite having only known the other man for a matter of days – of which several of them he spent unconscious or delirious – he thinks maybe it _is_ true.

"That night in the forest was revelatory," he admits. "You spoke to me like no one ever had. Treated me like no one ever had. And even though you… you could have taken liberties if you wanted, you didn't. You made it… _right_. About _us_."

Bull glides his thumb over a sharp cheek-bone. "I needed it to be. If… before… it's been… fun. Everyone knew what it was. No hard feelings… just… like a good meal. You know. Like it 'should' be. Sometimes… because it was useful, as well, but always because it was fun."

And he doesn't regret a single one of those times. He always made sure everyone walked away satisfied, if they were capable of walking. But those had been bodily exchanges, and that was different, or it is to him.

"Then… you wouldn't think I was crazy if I already thought it? I wasn't sure if you were supposed to wait longer, or… pass some test or something." He sucks his lips in, squirming awkwardly. "Because… I'm pretty damn sure I do. And… I'm not ever gonna be that guy with a fancy house and a huge garden and servants or slaves and rooms full of books… but if you don't need those…" 

Bull takes a deep breath. "If you don't… then… I'm here. For… for as long as you'll let me annoy the shit out of you. And I know I'm not… what you expected you'd get out of life, but I… I would still treat you with every ounce of respect I can… and… fuck! Why can't I just say it? Son of a… _Kadan_ … I do. There. I do. And… I want to be as much of what you want and need as I can. In any way you'll let me. And if you laugh now, I swear on Koslun's shiny fucking blade I will hurt you!"

Dorian kisses him, firm and careful. "I love you too," he says. "I don't… know how it happened. And I know it might look insane. But when I'm with you, I feel… different. _Better_."

His parents are going to have a fit. Is it wrong that he can't quite wait to tell them?

"I mean it. I've… well, you know I've been with plenty of other men, but… none of them ever looked at me the way you do. The way you see past everything else and just… see _me_. And then not run away."

Qunari do not turn pink, but they do flush, and Bull is sure even his horns are blushing right now. He _said it_ and it's _weird_ and the Ben-Hassrath will fucking gut him and… fuck them! Fuck them all. 

Or not, more accurately. He takes Dorian's face in both hands and kisses him back, with a catch in his breath the size of Orzammar. And then he kisses him again. And grabs a mess of dark hair (which by now definitely needs cutting), and holds him so he can't run away.

"I swear it. I know – I know I let you down with Harland, but I _swear_ that anyone who tries to hurt you goes through me. Even if you can normally kick their ass, and that's _hot_ and in no way do I think of you as helpless, just – damnit, kadan! I do. I love you, and it's driving me crazy, and I just want to do stupid shit like slay Darkspawn with you, then fuck you senseless, and then drink wine or ale or cocoa and… laugh about damned Orlesian nonsense ideas about fashion and…"

He's desperately looking for the trip. The joke. The flip. The moment when Dorian sneers and tells him he's an oafish brute, or that he's just not that good in bed, or… "I won't fucking run away. I'll run _after_ you, you pompous idiot. And everyone else in the world is ridiculous, because if they had half an idea of how you are… augh!"

Back to hugging him so tight he nearly snaps him in half. "Fuck them all. You're mine now, and I'm not letting go, so fuck the Qun and fuck the Imperium and then _fuck you_."

"Especially that last part," Dorian murmurs into Bull's chest, glad of the very tight hug because it hides just how affected he is by the words. "And you didn't let me down," he adds, insistent. "You saved me from him. More than once. If you hadn't been there… the whole trip would have been a living nightmare, and that's _before_ he decided I'd be better off dead…"

He shivers. He is not often genuinely scared, but the memories of that day… oh, they still hang heavy.

"And if you're wanting to do stupid shit then, trust me, this whole situation I'm stuck in the middle of should _more_ than satisfy you. My former mentor has joined a cult bent on ending the world. That should keep us occupied all the time we _aren't_ screwing like crazed nugs…"

Bull grunts into his hair, trying not to shake like he's gone mad. Fuck the Qun. He said it, and that's almost as insane as declaring you love some mad, Vint mage. But it's right in all the ways he hasn't felt for so long, and he laughs, borderline hysterical at the situation they're in. 

"You're a demon," Bull accuses him, with a strained, but amused tone. "But I don't regret a thing. And I _am_ going to screw your brains out, then in, then out again. I don't know what the hell you've done to me, but… I'm _happy_."

Such a simple word, and it means so much. 

Bull grabs under his throat, and tilts him up for more kisses. "Maybe no one else wanted you because they knew the minute I saw you I'd be ripping their throats out for thinking about seducing you." 

"I am most assuredly not a demon," Dorian insists. "We had training. It stops that from happening." Which is jest and reassurance all at once. "And as for the rest… it's no more than you've done to me. _Less_ , in fact, on account of how many times you ravaged me in that forest…"

Happy shiver.

"When you're feeling better, you can try more of that weird shit." Bull licks where he can feel his pulse, and the world hasn't ended, and this is good, and he might just have to tell Krem to get every bottle of wine in the whole country. "And if you didn't notice… _I_ liked doing those things in the forest, maybe as much as you. Do you know what you _sound_ like when you're being slammed? Makes me wonder what you'd do if I put my whole fist in you…" 

Which he has absolutely been fantasising about. Amongst other things. "I keep telling myself I want to go slow… but then you do that _thing_ where you look at me and I want to rip every shred of clothing off you and bend you in half and see how far my dick can go in you…"

This was meant to be romantic. Maybe it is. Bull just knows he's totally head over heels, and Dorian seems to have the equal, and not-opposite reaction. "I was supposed to be gentle with you!" He steals more kisses, feeling giddy and light-headed. "And – for the record – I am _totally_ down with new shit with you. But if you just want me to fuck you into the next age… _also_ down with that…" 

"Good thing you're stuck with me," Dorian says, but very affectionately. "It's going to take weeks just to try everything on the list, and that's not even taking repetitions into account. And did I mention that you ticked a _lot_ of my old fantasy boxes just that night alone? Because you did. And should again. In more detail. Apparently I like being taken with overwhelming force…"

Not now, Dorian. You can barely even stand. Not that you _need_ to stand when…

…where was he?

"Oh, I did?" Bull sounds very, very smug. "Well. I'll have to get the rest of those boxes out of you. You did keep mentioning using force to get answers… maybe I should rough you up until you tell me what it is you're touching yourself at night, thinking about, when I'm not there…"

He rolls onto his side, and starts to stroke over Dorian's flank, his hip, his thigh. "Did I mention that I find it really appealing when you beg? And when your mouth and mind say 'no', but your eyes and body scream 'yes'?" He takes hold of his balls, ignoring his dick for the minute, rubbing at the seam between them. 

"Your gorgeous body stripped, oiled, wrapped in chains and ropes so you're bound more tightly than any slave. Maybe you know you shouldn't make any noise, because someone will find you. And I _want_ them to find you, so everyone knows that I'm screwing the Magister's son until he can't walk… making him give in to all those dirty, dark desires he's hidden away… pushing my tongue, my fingers into all those secret things he thought no one knew were there… making him _love_ it…" 

He leans over, to whisper by his ear. "I know the things you dream about. I know. Because _I dream them too_." 

_That_ makes Dorian's eyes roll back with delight, unable to deny just how much he likes that image. And he does. He's had these sorts of fantasies for years, but never done anything more than minor restraint with silk ties. The sort of thing you get in even the most basic romance novels (of which he's read more than a few, but don't tell his tutors). And now… now it turns out he'd really like to do a lot of those things in reality. Repeatedly.

"Promise me you'll do that," he whispers, and he _is_ begging now. And it wasn't even deliberate. "When we can. Who knows what other secrets you might uncover…"

There are so many, after all. When your sexual preferences don't fit the expectations of the people around you, you develop a very active fantasy life. And now, it seems to be turning into a 'to do' list.

"I'll wrap you up in leather and lace… a kiss around your throat to remind you that you're owned… touch you with kindness, then with harshness… pull you between ecstasy and agony until you don't know the difference…" Bull wraps his hand around Dorian's cock, starting to slowly, slowly pump up and down. 

"But you don't want to hear it, do you? You do, but you don't. You're terrified of what I can _tell_ you… do you know what it is, kadan? Do you know what you're so afraid of, and want so very, very badly?" 

Dorian can't help a soft moan at that, his body still tired from before, but responding all the same. Possibly his newly-increased sex drive is trying to kill him. Possibly he doesn't care.

But that question…

"Afraid?" he repeats. "I'm not afraid…"

He thinks he isn't. Is he?

"It isn't that a powerful mage, strong enough to run anyone into the ground wants to be helpless and controlled… it isn't that you feel your urges are savage, hungry, fierce… it isn't even that you know half of Tevinter would long to be you, even while they hate you…" Bull keeps stroking, his lips a brush away and no more.

"You're scared that I don't need to ask. That I don't _need_ to make you tell me your secrets. You're scared that I already know just what it is you want… and that I can **tempt** you with everything you've ever told yourself you'd never have… those things you know the demons would offer… and if I can give you everything you've ever been denied?"

Bull chokes the base of his cock, trapping the blood inside, squeezing and pushing his fist into his pubic bone. "Who are you? Who are you, if I know you as well as you know yourself? Where do you hide? How can you defend yourself from someone who controls more than just your body?" 

He smiles. Softly. Painfully. Places the sweetest, most aching of kisses to the other's lips. "You're scared, because what if I know something _you don't_." Then his hand starts to move again. " _I won't ever try to change you._ "

Dorian's heart is _racing_ now; not in a bad way, oh no – he'd be resisting if that was the case – but certainly in the kind of way that's going to be rolling around in his mind for a long time. Because… deep down, he's sure the other man is right, and that just proves the point even more, and who even is he if he doesn't know?

You have to know. Know who you are. It's one part of protecting yourself from demons. And Dorian has always thought he does know. _Did_ know.

What if he doesn't? What if there are things he doesn't realise yet?

And what _does_ it mean that Bull can see them already? Beyond the fact that the Ben-Hassrath are going to end up losing an _epically_ -good spy..?

"I trust you," he whispers, because he does, and he wants to affirm that. And remind himself of it, because it helps soothe the fear. "I wouldn't have let you touch me without a fight if I didn't. So… so if you know things, then… then they can't be bad because otherwise you wouldn't want me, and… _ohpleasepleaseplease_ …"

"That's assuming _I'm_ not bad." Which Bull hopes he isn't. He tries not to be. How can you tell if you are, or not? Here he is, pulling his newly-affirmed life partner apart with one hand and his words. Is it cruel?

Can it possibly be cruel when it has Dorian's body battered like a kite in a thunderstorm? When he's coasting on the edge of such bliss? When Dorian _surrenders_ all the same, to whatever he does, whatever he takes? 

Bull doesn't want to cause harm. Hurt, but not harm. He doesn't want to see tears unless the tracks of them wash away old pains. He wants to protect this man, and unchain those locks he puts inside himself, even if he uses ones on wrists and ankles to do it. He wants to see him _free_ and _happy_ and that is **not wrong**.

A hand under his head again, the other working his cock, doing nothing more than stroke him any way his body seems to need. Twist, pull, pinch, tug. Bull follows every little tell, every broken noise and kick of toes. He guides their eyes to meet, and his smile hurts even himself. "You can be you, kadan. Whatever it is you need. Whatever it is you want. Don't be afraid. No one can tempt you, if you already have what you need. Let me be it. Let me be all of it. Let _go_." 

" _Please_ ," Dorian breathes, because, _Maker_ , he likes the sound of that. It scares him too, oh yes, but the best things are the ones that make your heart race, one way or another. "I'll… oh… _oh_ … I'll do anything… please… please…"

He's drifting out of his head again, and it really is _lovely_ , and oh, but he wants to see just how well Bull knows him. How much he's worked out. How much he knows that maybe even Dorian doesn't. Yes. Oh yes.

His whole body is shaking under the stimulation, and it's too much, too much, but he doesn't even try to resist. And he could. He just… chooses not to. _Wants_ not to. Wants to find out what will happen if Bull keeps pushing.

"I know you will, _kadan_. I know you will do anything I ask… I could bind your cock so you can't come… maybe even for days on end… fill you over and over, until it leaks down your thighs… make you live on that knife-edge, knowing you only get to come when I will it…" Bull pushes his thumbnail into the already-sticky slit. He licked everything clean before, but Dorian's leaking again with all the attention. 

He pushes, making the skin go pale where he's pressing so hard. "Tie you to the bed. Tie you to the table. Display you like a work of art, and worship every line of you…" Only his hands, his voice, and he knows Dorian is just as caught as if those ropes were here right now. "But those ligatures, those knots… they would only be symbolic, even if you enjoyed feeling them. I could tie you in lyrium-wrapped vines, but the only real cage, the only real trap… it's inside your mind, your heart."

Bull clamps over the base again, knowing it will make release impossible if he plays it just right. "You could throw me off at any moment. If you wanted to. The trick is making you _not_ want to. Making sure you feel safe enough to be free." 

He pinches a nipple, then, and twists until Dorian can't seem to stand it. " _I know you_." More scratches down his chest, and then lips poised to bite a mark in the join of his neck to collarbone. "There is nothing you want that I won't give." He seals his mouth and squeezes with his hand, pulling all the responses he can from just two points of their bodies meeting. 

" _Please!_ " Dorian screams, because he wants those things, he _needs_ those things, he is _terrified_ of those things, and also because he needs to come and he _can't_. "Let me… let me come… I'm begging you… I'll do anything you want… I just… I _need_ …"

He feels like his mind is completely falling apart, and not just in a 'phenomenal-sex' way. It's deeper than that. Like being _seen_ for the first time. And right now, he can't quite process it all at once, especially when the inescapable stimulation _is_ going to break him before long.

Bull smiles as he suckles harder, pulling blood to bruise below the surface of his skin in a going-to-be-obvious love bite. Not that anyone in a five mile radius hasn't heard the mage yowling like a nug in heat, but he'll see it, and Dorian will feel it, and it's… good. So good.

His lithe body squirms in Bull's grip, and he grinds the fist against his balls again, pushing stimulation in, but refusing to let any out. His mouth lifts – saliva-wet – and rumbles lowly at his ear. "I can make your climaxes go on for hours. I can keep you from spilling your load. I can turn release into torture, so you come and it doesn't help… I can let you find bliss, but it doesn't release the need… I **own** your pleasure, kadan. I can make it the best, and worst thing you've ever felt… _and you'll thank me for it_." 

The Qunari brings his knee up to grind it into the mage's balls, against his taint, still refusing to release the ring of his fist. "And when you do find it? When you do find that bliss? That's when I'll hold you down and fuck you all the way past the Fade and into whatever comes next…" 

Oh, but it's terrifying. Gloriously terrifying. Dorian bucks up as hard as he can, eyes wild with desperate pleading. He doesn't think he's ever felt so completely on the edge, and he has no idea how to persuade Bull to let him fall – which he hazily realises is the point – and it's beyond maddening.

The thought is enough to kick him into _something_ that's definitely not release, but it still thunders through him so hard that it feels as though his _mind_ is coming apart in the process. But it's torture, pure torture, because when it fades he's just aware of still needing _more_.

" _ **Please**_!" he begs again, utterly lost and utterly helpless. "Please… I can't… you're going to _destroy me_ …"

"You're too strong to be destroyed, my heart. I'll only make you stronger." 

Bull rolls him over, still holding his prick, and pulls his butt backwards. Lick, spit, and he starts to finger him with just the middle digit. "One more, one more then I'll fuck you til you come." 

His finger is long enough to stroke deeply inside, and he angles his wrist, making sure he's enjoying it. The finger finds the nub of his prostate, and glances then rubs. Then rubs harder, as he kisses at his shoulder. "Come again. Show me you're ready. Show me you need this." 

Dorian needs this. He needs it like he can't remember needing anything in his life – which is significant for a committed hedonist – but the sheer lack of _true_ release is more painful than a knife to the gut. Well, maybe not quite, but right now it's hard to be sure.

"…can't take any more… can't… I can't… you're going to…"

His words might cry mercy, but his tone cries 'prove me wrong'. He presses his head into the pillows, shaking, trembling, trying to rut against the other man to get _something_ to push him over the edge. But all he gets for his trouble is another not-quite-climax, so intense it _hurts_ , and he screams as he tries, tries, tries to get it to resolve and can't, no matter what he does.

Bull kisses his neck, his shoulders, murmuring soothing, loving words into his sweat-drenched skin. He knows he's pushing the envelope a bit too far, considering, but he wants Dorian to feel utterly wanted, loved, and satisfied. He wants to make sure he's giving him everything he possibly can. 

"So good, kadan, so strong. So proud." He pulls his finger out, and grabs at the bedside table, finding the oil he (of course) kept close. He keeps murmuring as he slicks it over his very-interested dick, then pushes up with bent knees to spoon behind him. 

He's so damn beautiful, and not just his body. That fierce fire in him, even as battered as he is, now. Bull nestles up against him, and slowly starts to thrust inside. His hand shows no mercy, and he rests his cheek on the other's, sighing in satisfaction at the coupling. 

"You come when I let you. You come when I say so. Now you're mine, you'll never go wanting or lonely again. You're loved, kadan. You're loved." He rolls, the movements getting sharper, but still not fierce. He doesn't need to, not when Dorian's a tangle of raw, exposed nerve endings. He drinks in every breath, every twitch, and his lips kiss the corner of his mouth. "One more for me, kadan. I know you can do it. One more. Bring me over the edge, and I'll let you come, too." 

Dorian's mind is just _gone_ , and he's lost in sensation, and desperation, and in some weird kind of ecstasy that makes no sense, because how can being _this_ wound up be ecstatic?

But it is. Even though he feels like he'd give both their body weights in gold just to get the release he's chasing. "Please," he whispers, but it's soft now, and lost, and found, all at once. "I need… I need… please…"

The firm fucking helps, though, and it's enough to kick him over that not-edge all over again; a strangled cry slipping his lips along with a sudden, desperate fear that even this might not be enough, that Bull might want _more_ and Dorian might not have anything left to give.

"Please," he murmurs, the word falling again and again like a litany to a forgotten god older than time itself. "Please…"

" _Kadan_." Bull puts all the weight of the world in that one word. That which resides in the chest. It's more than the chest, it's more than the body, even. Bull can feel the way they meet, and it's deeper than the places that grip and work his shaft. Deeper than the trembling and rolling. He can do this. He can make Dorian feel this good… and that power is precious. That gift is precious, and pride swells his whole torso and ripples down his spine. 

Bull knows he's about to finish. He could hold on, hold out and draw this out for hours… but Dorian isn't recovered, yet, and part of the power he's entrusted with is to know how much. When. Where. Why. He coasts the wracks and grinding, just as long as he dares.

Then his hand stops choking, and starts milking all the way down his length. He can feel the spasms rippling around him, and he lets them carry his own climax through. It's slower, still fierce, but washing into mellow as the crests break. Tug, tug, tug. Until there's nothing more coming, and Dorian's no longer moving with him. Bull nuzzles and bends his knees more, wiping sticky release over his lover's belly to cuddle him in tighter. "Good boy. Good boy. There you go. There you are. Isn't that better? Isn't that right?" 

Dorian tries to answer, but the best he can manage is a soft murmur; albeit one that sounds very grateful and _very_ happy. He's relatively confident he couldn't move if he tried – not that he wants to try – and he just lies completely still, save for a few wracked gasps as he attempts to catch his breath.

_Fuck_ , but that was good. Really, really, mind-destroyingly good.

He has another go at saying as much, but it's still just tiny little murmurs of bliss, so he settles for nodding instead, before curling up even more and hoping Bull will just hold him like this for hours. Maybe forever.

"You can rest now." Bull drapes over him, trying to give him all the security and support he needs. He knows his body is drained, and now his mind is quieted, and he hopes it will let him sleep in total peace. "You can relax. I will hold you. I will keep you safe until you wake."

Outside, his Chargers guard the doors, guard the walls. Bull knows no one will disturb them, and he feels his own heart rate gradually slowing to sync with Dorian's. Thud. Thud. Sigh. Breathe. The kind of calm he rarely feels, and so sorely needs. Thud. Thud.

A single finger trailing nonsense symbols over a hip-bone. 

When you know, you know. Bull smiles, and lets himself fall asleep, too. He hasn't been able to rest properly since Dorian was poisoned. He needs to let go just as much, and now he does.


	8. Chapter 8

It's a number of days later: days that have passed in a haze of healing and recuperation and very, very good sex.

Dorian is feeling a lot better. Still not quite right, but now able to function for most of a day without needing a rest in the middle. Though sometimes he gets one anyway, on account of all the sex.

Other than him and Bull, there are three other Chargers around most of the time: Krem, who Dorian instantly likes, and who he knows means a great deal to Bull; Stitches, their medic, who is far more patient with Dorian than Dorian deserves, and Grim, who is infuriating.

Dorian has been trying for days to get a word out of the man. It never works. Even trying to startle him with unexpected magic barely gets more than a glower or raised eyebrow.

And then one afternoon they get advance word that several other members of the group have met at their nearby rendezvous point, and are heading down to the safehouse together. They've been out on various intelligence-gathering missions across much of the south, and Dorian for one is eager – and a little nervous, he'd never admit out loud – to hear what they've discovered.

He just has to hope it includes word on Alexius. Dorian needs to find the man before it's too late. Though… he's not sure what he'll do when he does.

Bull claps Rocky on the shoulder when he turns up. He's the first of the three to arrive, and he hasn't yet met Dorian, and it is in no way that Bull wants to show off his partner (okay, maybe a little) and impress said partner with his company's skills. 

"Rocky," he loudly says, by way of introduction. "You're early."

"You didn't set a time."

"You're a dwarf. Didn't think you believed in time." He's teasing, but not with any real force behind it. "Anyway, here's--"

"Pavus?" Rocky nods. "Good family, so I heard. So far as things go." 

"…and Rocky is our Sapper, and rock expert."

"I blow shit up if it needs blowing up," he agrees. 

That makes Dorian smile. "It can be helpful sometimes. And you know of my family? Well. I'm not sure whether to be pleased or concerned." Possibly both. "No doubt they are beside themselves looking for me…"

From his tone, he doesn't think this is likely to be the case. Or at least hopes it isn't. Even he isn't quite sure.

Rocky looks first to Bull, then back to Dorian. "I can find out if they are. Your people and… well, the Orzammar lot… wouldn't be hard to put an ear to the stone…" 

Bull gives a tiny nod. "Don't let them know where he is."

"Course not, what do you take me for?" Rocky pulls up a chair, and puts his boots on another. 

Bull hadn't thought to do too much research into Halward Pavus. A little, of course, because he always wants to know as much as he can about a situation, but that little tightness around Dorian's eyes… yeah. He needs to know precisely what that man is up to, so he can ensure it doesn't impact in any unfortunate way. 

Krem sees his little nod, and he knows his second in command is on the case. Good. 

"We'll wait for everyone before we start," Bull says. "And that means on the wine and ale, too. I need everyone sharp on this."

"Yes, Chief." Krem smirks. "But you can tell him yourself." He tips his head towards Dorian, who has – of course – not waited. 

"What?" Dorian says, looking entirely unfazed. "It's after noon. Stitches said I was allowed." And I would anyway, his tone adds. "Besides, I have all my best ideas after a glass or two."

He's opted for wine this time around, which isn't in itself a surprise, but is deliberate nonetheless. It's _classier_. And he wants to project a certain image when meeting more of Bull's people.

"I said I couldn't _stop_ you, and a glass or two wouldn't 'hurt'," the medic replies, with a slight shake of his head. 

"Just leave some for the rest of us," Rocky huffs. "Some of us been on the damn road for days."

"You stop causing trouble, Krem," Bull scolds. "Mummy and Daddy do not need you acting the little shit."

"…which one are you?"

"Dunno. Whichever kicks your ass." Bull shrugs. "Dorian knows his limits. And he knows if he crosses them, that you have my full permission to draw all over his face."

Krem barks a laugh, and looks suspiciously like he's trying to work out just what he'd draw. 

"Just make it something attractive, won't you?" Dorian says, batting his eyelashes. He can get away with this kind of mild flirting where Krem is concerned, because Krem has no interest in him, and Bull is fond enough of Krem that it comes across as playful banter, rather than anything disloyal. Which it really isn't. It's just how Dorian communicates.

At this point, the door swings open again, and in walks an Elven woman with a glowing… …bow? …staff? slung across her back. " _Aneth ara_. Just made it back. Skinner's right behind me; stopped to pick a fight with a bandit of some sorts back at the crossroads. Apologies in advance for the blood."

"Just mop up after." Bull rolls his eyes at her. "Dorian, this is Dalish. Who is an _archer_." He says that with all the droll he can manage. "With a staff." 

There's a suspicious cough from Krem, which might be mistaken for 'Mum', if you didn't know what was good for you.

"It's a _bow_ ," Dalish insists, for what is clearly the thousandth time.

"Ah yes, of course," Dorian says, with a nod. "We should swap stories sometime. About… archery."

Possibly he is also a bit of a bastard.

Dalish raises her eyebrows and immediately looks at Krem. "I can see you've had your hands full," she remarks.

"Actually, the Chief has, it's given me a bit of a break, if I'm honest." Krem arches a brow. "At least until someone started the old war stories up again."

"Krem de la Krem, you wound me." Bull clucks his tongue, arms folding across his chest. "As if you don't enjoy telling of our glorious exploits."

"Squirrels."

"They were _mean_ squirrels."

"After your nuts, weren't they?"

Bull huffs. "Well they couldn't find yours."

"Don't drag mine in the dirt, Chief. Maybe you should give it a try?"

Which is when Stitches holds his hand out to Dorian for the bottle anyway. 

Dorian obliges at once, with a gracious little smile that says he's just happy to earn an ally. Even if only for the moment. Plus, there's plenty to go around, and it's so much nicer to drink _with_ people. Harder to stop you, too, if everyone's doing it.

"The squirrels would've been fine if you hadn't made them mad," Dalish points out, taking a seat at the table and looking like she would also appreciate the wine.

Stitches passes the bottle, after pouring his own. Bull glares. Stitches shrugs.

"The squirrels were magic squirrels. _Demon_ squirrels. Which you should have known, **Dalish**." It being pretty much her clan that they'd been helping out. "And I don't remember anyone coming up with any better suggestions."

"You said I couldn't blow them up." Rocky has the bottle, now. "You thought they were cute."

"They were, until they started trying to eat me!" Bull mutters under his breath for a moment. "You are not making me look good, guys."

"But please, don't stop, I'm learning so much!" Dorian exclaims, clearly enjoying the conversation more than he should.

"Hey, I said we needed to be careful," Dalish insists, pouring out a very healthy cupful for herself. "How was I supposed to know in advance that they were possessed? Anyway, it turned out fine in the end. For us, at least…"

In the corner, Grim gives an affirmative-sounding grunt.

"Exactly!" Dalish replies, as if she both understands and agrees.

"They _were_ cute." Bull won't budge on that. "But they tasted better than they behaved. **And** that was a decent payout."

Of course, Krem can't help but join in again. "Don't worry… he soon changed his mind about keeping one as a mascot, so you're the only one to date, Magister." 

"Don't you call my kadan a demon squirrel, Krem!"

"Or a magister, for that matter," Dorian points out. "You're one of my fellow countrymen. I shouldn't have to give you the 'not all Tevinter mages are magisters' speech. Besides, _Magister_ Pavus is my father, and we can all be thankful _he_ isn't here."

And _that_ calls for more wine.

Mercifully (probably), this is the point at which the door opens again and in stalks a second Elven woman: dark-haired and lacking the Vallaslin that mark Dalish out as… well, _Dalish_.

"Sorry," she drawls. "Ran into a little problem. Needed a minute to deal with him."

Given that she hasn't quite cleaned off all the blood, it's likely best not to ask.

"Demon Squirrel, meet Skinner. Skinner… this is the Boss' Nutcracker." Krem waves between them. 

"You and I are going to have words about this," Bull whuffs. "And not all of them will be nice…" He scoops the wine bottle away from the latest hand, and takes a healthy swig from it, knowing it'll put several off trying to take it back from him. "Now, if we could get on with the briefing?" 

Rocky bangs a fist into the table. "Hear, hear!"

"Alright lads, listen up." Krem's voice settles the room mostly down. "Rocky's been looking into underground shit, and the Free Marches. Skinner and Dalish have been tailing the Vints in the area."

The dwarf nods. "I'll start up then. First off: there's some weird shit in the Deep Roads. What it is, I can't say, nor can them I talked to. I just heard there's been problems for the Legion, and it's been worse than it should after a Blight. And more Wardens gone missing than is usual."

"I'm guessing not because they're going to Antiva to retire?" Bull asks.

"Don't think they even can. Anyway. Then the next thing is, there's been more Chantry agents in Kirkwall, even since right after the blast. Word is they got some Seekers looking for the mage that started it, and the Champion. Don't know if that's anything to do with it, but it's definitely made everyone in Kirkwall even _less_ happy than they were before. Wouldn't walk around there looking like a mage right now. Not if you like your bits still attached when you leave." 

"That is concerning," Dorian remarks. "The last thing Kirkwall needs right now is a cohort of Chantry folk in the mix. It must be like throwing blackpowder on a bonfire."

"Agreed," Skinner says. "And what Rocky said about the Wardens… that might be connected to the Vint I've been following. He met with the Orlesian Warden-Commander, and now there's a whole load of them massing at some old fortress out in the Western Approach. Got a name on the guy, too. Livius Erimond."

"Oh, what a joy," Dorian says, tone heavy with distaste. "Livius _is_ a magister. And a slimy little weasel to boot. Whatever he's up to, you can bet it's nefarious."

"Dalish, keep your nose clean if you're going near Kirkwall, alright? They might get confused by your… bow." If she wants to keep to the ridiculous fiction that she's not an apostate, whatever, but Bull wants to make fully sure she's alright. 

"Want me to task some more guys out in the Western Approach, Chief?"

"Yeah. And Kirkwall. Don't leave the crossroads inns under-staffed, but when we've got a real lead, work it. Dorian… if you can think up some background and leads on that Erimond guy before we send them back out…?"

"We've crossed paths on a few occasions," Dorian replies. "He's a frightful bore at parties. Overly fond of the sound of his own voice. Definitely the sort who might be suckered into a world-ending cult, in the hopes he might get some kind of minor godhood out of it. I'd keep your distance unless you have no choice. He's also an _extremely_ powerful mage. And… the rumour is he's more than dabbled in blood magic."

Also his dress sense is so _appalling_ he might as well be _Orlesian_.

"Right, so… use a ballista?" Krem asks, rolling his eyes.

Bull slaps his shoulders.

"What?" The Lieutenant frowns.

"That was a 'Krem Pat'," Bull quips.

Krem simply deadpans right to his face. 

"You guys really do need to drink." Bull shakes his head. "One more report, action plan, then the cellar's open. Better?"

"Whatever you say, Chief."

"If I can _try_ to get things back on track," Dalish cuts in, pointedly, "I also have news. And… it's not good. That Vint I've been following? Gereon Alexius? After he and his entourage left the place where you almost ran into him, they've carried on heading south. Word is they're planning to cross the Waking Sea and into Ferelden."

"Ferelden?" Dorian repeats. "Do you know why?"

"Not as yet, no," Dalish answers. "I've got a couple of people looking into it. Hopefully someone can get a snippet or two from them at the docks. Or the boat, if they can secure passage."

"Tell them to speak to Felix. Alexius' son. He… he'll help. He's a good man. Saved my life, so I'm told."

Dalish nods. "If I can get word to them before they hit the coast, I'll see that they do. Grim, I'm gonna need a couple of ravens."

Grim grunts.

"Thanks."

"Right… so we have a few leads. And it looks like this is spreading…" Which isn't good. Bull bites his lip. "I'll let the Ben-Hassrath know. See what we can get from them by means of support. Be best for everyone if we leave Dorian's name _out_ of anyone's reports but mine." 

"Please do," Dorian says. "I should like to spend another week or two without people after me. It's tiring."

"Also you should mention the cheese knives," Dalish adds, nudging Skinner, who looks unimpressed.

"That? It's nothing. Nonsense."

"It might not be," Dorian reasons. "Anything could be relevant right now."

Skinner sighs. "There's this new craze in Orlais. Everyone's talking about it. Enchanted cheese knives. You're not _someone_ unless your cheese knife _glows_. No idea where the things are coming from."

There's an odd silence.

"…I take it back," Dorian manages. "Some things may not be relevant."

Skinner glares at Dalish, no doubt for making her say it in the first place, but the other woman just shrugs and looks unapologetic.

"Did you get one?" Rocky asks, sitting up. 

"And why would you even… cheese isn't dangerous!" Bull wants to facepalm, he does. "You said Orlais. You know nothing good ever comes out of Orlais. Except shit for the arable land, and even then it's probably too high a proof. Stoned fucking carrots, next."

"Yeah, I got a whole bunch," Skinner answers. "Thought I might use 'em as throwing knives. Hilts have _amazing_ balance. _Anyway_ , Miss Anything-Could-Be-Relevant," she adds, turning back to Dalish, "you haven't mentioned the nugs yet."

"Oh! Yes, the nugs," Dalish answers. "Heard from a couple of guys in a tavern just north of the Vimmarks… apparently all the nugs in Kirkwall have vanished. Seems to have happened around about the same time as all that trouble Rocky mentioned, with the Chantry. Rumour is they've been struck down by the Maker."

"Right. Well. We know that superstition is alive and well in Thedas." Struck down by the Maker? Even Bull couldn't make that dumb shit up. They're nugs. What would any deity want with them? 

"So – what's our next steps?" Krem looks between Bull and Dorian. "Can't imagine you two will want to stay here much longer, delightful as your never-ending company has been." 

Dorian sits forward, with his most serious expression in place. "I need to go after Alexius. I need to catch up with him and stop him from doing whatever he's got planned, before he gets himself – or someone else – hurt."

It's clear Dorian still cares about the man on some level, even despite the whole sending-a-crazy-templar-to-abduct-him thing. It's hard not to, given how much of an impact he's made on Dorian's life. Goodness knows where he'd be now, if Gereon hadn't taken him on when he did.

And if the worst comes to the worst and someone has to deal with him… Dorian wants to be the one to do it. Or, as a minimum, to be there at the time.

"Hey… we don't go in half-drawn. Remember? I agree he's the priority, but we have to make sure we have enough to understand what he's doing, and successfully stop it." Bull nudges Dorian's foot, under the table. "So. Priority, but restrained?" 

"All right," Dorian concedes. "I'm not suggesting we go charging off to light him on fire. I just… I have to do something. He's more family than my _actual_ family, and without meaning to be immodest, I'm probably one of the few people who _can_ stop him."

"So we go after him with all the intelligence we can," Bull agrees. He met Felix, after all. He knows this goes deep, and he knows it's also a relationship he'll probably never properly understand, but it doesn't mean he can't respect it. 

But this is… 

"Grim, go fetch one of the kegs, would you? I need some fresh air." 

Much as he loves his squad, sometimes Bull does like to walk in the air. Used to be it would be just him (with Krem occasionally checking he wasn't planning anything too dumb), but now…

"You coming?" He holds a hand out for Dorian, even though he doesn't need it. 

Dorian takes his hand, because it's nice to be wanted. Even if he's a little worried about where this is going. "Sure," he agrees, and follows, letting Bull lead the way.

The Qunari moves his hand to the small of Dorian's back, guiding him out and into the small area which – for all intents and purposes – is a vegetable garden. It is one. It is also heavily fortified and has the best vantage points, but it additionally grows (non-stoned) vegetables. Otherwise the little farmstead would stick out to the casual observer.

He sits on one of the benches, and waits for Dorian to join him. 

"So. That's the core unit. There's about forty more, and some assets… but those are the ones who'd go to the Fade and back for you." He watches his face, wanting his reaction, his assessment. (And approval.) 

"They're a good bunch," Dorian says, as he sits as well. "Clearly talented. Clearly loyal. The kind of people I'd expect to be following you." He smiles, and puts his hand over Bull's. "I don't feel like we're just two men against the world anymore."

That's not to say the odds aren't still stacked against them, but they're definitely better than they were a short time ago.

"They're good," he agrees. "Can be a bit… much. Didn't want you to feel overwhelmed." But that's only part of it, and he turns his palm over, so their fingers can lace together. 

"I didn't want to ask you more about Alexius and his son in front of everyone. We can tell them what they need to know… but I need you to feel able to tell me anything you want to. And it doesn't have to be now, but I needed to tell you that… now." 

Bull can pick up a lot about interactions, reactions, and motivations. He can't pick up on specific triggers or traits or weaknesses from events he didn't witness, of course, but it's more than just tactics. It means something to Dorian, more than just 'saving Tevinter'. So it means something to Bull, too. "And if they wonder why we vanished, I'll just tell them I needed to taste the last of the wine you polished off." 

"I suppose I haven't talked about him much, have I?" Dorian says, realising he should just explain it all. At least to Bull. "I'm sorry. It… was easier to just have him be some amorphous enemy, rather than…"

A soft little sigh. "I had a very… troubled youth. Bounced from school to school, tutor to tutor. I was… difficult. I got worse after I came of age, too. My father, in his infinite wisdom, tried sending me to the Order of Argent. Imagine! Being with people who were sympathetic hadn't ended well, but being with people _that_ strict? Barely lasted three months before I did a runner. Went to blow everything I had on cheap wine and cheap company. Anything to get the taste of failure and parental disapproval out of my mouth."

And that's an understatement. He was not in a good mental place at the time. Which is also an understatement.

"But then I met a magister," he goes on, with renewed weight in his voice. "Gereon Alexius. Somehow I charmed him with my witty nature and raw talent, and he decided to take me on as his apprentice instead of carting me back to my parents. And Gereon and I… we just worked so well together. Sure, he pushed me hard, but I never hated him for it, and I never rebelled against it. I wouldn't be the man or the mage I am today without him."

"He was your mentor," Bull says, piecing through the words and the tone, unravelling the emotions and storing the knowledge. Not to use as a weapon, not against Dorian, anyway. "He… became what you wanted your father to be, for you? And you became the son he'd wanted in Felix?" 

Then his lips quirk. "I do take objection to some of that. I'm sure you did rebel against him. It's just that he knew how to channel that positively… might know a bit about that, myself." 

Dorian smiles too. The memories are good ones, but they hurt now. "Maybe a little," he concedes. "But not in the same way. Not… like I wanted to be gone. Just that I wanted to be _noticed_. And yes, I suppose I was like a son to him. Felix… Gereon loves Felix. Deeply. But Felix has very little magical talent. I'm surprised he was able to heal me as much as you say he did. I'm guessing it took a lot out of him."

The smile fades. "There's something else. A few years back, Felix and his mother were attacked by Darkspawn whilst travelling from Orlais – where Felix was studying – back to Tevinter. His mother was killed, and Felix… Felix contracted the taint. He's dying. Gereon never got over it: not his wife's death, nor his son's effective death sentence. And I… we… we tried to find a cure. No one has ever done it before, but we in our hubris thought it was possible. Maybe it is. But… we didn't find one. And when I finally said Gereon needed to accept the reality of the situation… things got heated."

And of course, blood ties cut across the magical ones. It was always about the sodding blood, wasn't it? Which was why Dorian's refusal to procreate and continue it all caused so much grief… yes… now he can see. Bull dips his head, touching their brows together.

He can sense how painful it is, that even as loudly as Dorian broadcasts, it's far deeper under the skin than he'd like to use words to say. A second family, and even that one didn't work. 

"Do you… Do you think that's why he's joined the Venatori? To try to save his son?" And oh, even as he says that, Bull chokes just a little. "…which… you do realise if your own father turned to blood magic, when he hated it… you know that meant he valued you more than his principles, right? Even if it was a fucked up way of showing it?" 

"Most likely," Dorian answers. "Gereon always used to be so level-headed. I wouldn't have expected him to join a cult like that before… well." A heavy sigh. "Things are different now. And a Darkspawn god might be the saviour he thinks he needs."

But the rest… the rest Dorian can't respond to so easily. "My father isn't the issue here," he adds, in the kind of tone that would shut the conversation down with most other people. "Now I know he's not the one after me, I can go back to not thinking about him."

Ideally forever. Because it certainly doesn't feel like the whole incident with the blood magic was indicative of his father valuing him over his principles. No. Just his legacy. And hypocrisy is one of the bitterest draughts to swallow.

"Isn't he? You've lost both of them. You might want to think it isn't anything, but… I know you better than that." Bull tilts his head, kissing at the shorter man's brow. "Ignoring it, and how you feel about it… will only make it hurt more in the long term."

He should know about that. 

"I haven't met him. But he meant a lot to you, or his betrayal wouldn't have hurt you so much. I am in no way saying what he did was right, but I am saying it doesn't mean he didn't love you. People can… want to help… and do things that really don't." 

He's aware that, even with all their whispered promises, he's pushing into an area Dorian may not be willing to let him into. But he needs to.

He needs to, because it's hurting Dorian, and Bull doesn't like that. 

It isn't that Dorian doesn't want to talk to Bull about this. If there was anyone he'd talk to about it, Bull would be first on the list. It's just that he doesn't want to talk about it _at all_. To anyone. Including himself. Jamming those feelings deep down and burying them under other problems (and wine) has always been the best way to deal with them.

Not for the first time, he wishes he had a sibling: someone he could point at and declare 'aha! That one's more to your taste, go with them' and then that would be the end of it.

But his parents would have had to be around each other long enough to produce more than one child, so that was never going to happen.

"If he loves me, he had a funny way of showing it," Dorian says. His tone is dark, but the darkness isn't directed at Bull. "I swear, if I wasn't as good at magic as I am – or he had a spare – he would have disowned me years ago. He wanted a well-behaved sycophant capable of being intimate with a woman at least long enough to produce a child. Instead he got an alcoholic deviant with severe impulse-control issues."

His words, incidentally. And oh, but that had been a horrible fight.

"He got a brave, intelligent young man, with a sense of moral duty, a heart bigger than a country, and a wicked sense of humour," Bull corrects him. "And one who decided to put his frustration into risking himself, not others. And one who was prepared to _still_ help people, even if they treated him like absolute shit."

Bull squeezes his hand again. "You're angry. And when I gave you the chance to work that anger out, you were still so ready to meet me in the middle. You had every right to want to beat the shit out of me for real. And instead, you were ready to listen to _me_."

It's difficult for Bull to properly understand the need to produce your own offspring. He's never been around traditional families, even here in the south. He's forged his own, and they've always worked better than trying to cope with the ones you had by chance. 

"I don't know him. And all I have to go off is what you tell me. But if he really was a total asshole with no redeeming qualities, I don't think you'd be hurt that he turned on you. And if he can't see what's worth seeing in you, then I don't know how he made you in the first place… if none of you is from him – or Alexius – then you're even more incredible than I already thought you were. I just…"

His chin drops onto Dorian's head, tucking him under. "You still love him. But you hate that part of him. Is it so hard to think he might still love you? But what you really need to remember… is you don't need everyone to love you. Just enough people, and the right ones. So if it helps you to try save Alexius from himself… then I'll do everything I can to help. Just… just know that who you are, and what you're worth, doesn't need any of them to validate. You have nothing to prove to them. Only to yourself." 

"If he still loves me – if he _ever_ really did – then he has a very odd way of showing it," Dorian says, but he lets Bull tug him in, glad of the contact. Part of him wishes the other man would be as angry about this as Dorian himself is, so they could just be angry together and that would be that. But, at the same time, he appreciates that Bull is trying to help.

Dorian just doesn't think it's something that can be fixed. And it's not from want of trying.

"I don't need his validation. I don't even need Alexius'. And I certainly don't need everyone to love me. But I don't think it's too much to ask that they _accept_ me."

"No. It isn't. It really isn't." Bull tugs him in closer, arms moving to wrap around him as he bodily shields him. He's aware it's how people perceive his strength, but he also knows just how important touch can be. And – even if he's doing it with the best will and reasoning – it's just another example of how his training means he can push people the way he needs to.

"They should do. And it fucking sucks that they don't. But if they don't, that's _them_. Not you. And… you've only just met them, but there's six guys back in there who _will_. They don't care where you came from, or what blood runs in your veins. Who your great-aunt was. If you can set shit on fire with your mind, or with powders… they give a shit about you giving a shit. Yeah, so we're a bunch of sell-swords. But so what? People are as important as you let them be to you."

Which… Bull knows he's bad at. He's not supposed to let them mean so much to him, but he does. He _likes_ people. Fun people. Strong people. Sincere people. He likes being around them, and he likes feeling like…

"We try to help him. And – if it comes to it – your father, too. But there's someone more important than either of them, and he's sitting right here, and he might not have been where he should have been, before… but now he has a family. A family who _don't_ want him to change, except for maybe let assholes hurt him less." 

"Don't think I don't appreciate the reminder," Dorian says, more softly. "Because I do. It's nice to have somewhere I might actually… _belong_. I just don't want you to think you have to fix everything in my messed-up past. Focus on helping me build my messed-up future. But different messed-up, obviously. _Better_."

He turns slightly, bumping his forehead against the other man's jaw. "I do want to try to help Alexius, though. I have to. And… I believe it might still be possible, in his case."

"Sometimes building your future… means letting go of your past." Grey fingers swirl idle patterns over the fine fabrics. Not aiming to do anything other than soothe, and calm. "Not that I'm the expert on that… my training was to use it to extract information, not… help." 

But it won't stop him trying. "I don't like seeing you hurting. That's all. And I can _feel_ it… so, guess we have to work out how we do the next bit together, huh? When it was me… I had them nearly destroy me to wipe it all out. And then, when it wasn't enough…" Bull laughs. "You drank, I fought. You poured poison down your throat, I had others do it for me… maybe you shouldn't be looking to me for how to feel better. Except…"

He crooks a finger, uses it to tilt his mage's head up. "You made it feel better. I don't know how, but you did. I… wanted you to know. And I… don't. Ever. And it just… maybe… maybe we can help each other, or something. Maybe that's how we… stop. Maybe we can't fix ourselves, but we can fix each other." Because it has hurt for so very, very long. Hurt the Iron Bull doesn't like to let show, that he laughs and drinks over, or burns it out with pain until his mind quietens. 

Dorian pushes up and kisses him at that: not a please-fuck-my-brains-out-now kiss, but an I-don't-know-how-I-ever-lived-without-you one. He keeps it slow, and loving, and so very grateful; drawing it out until he has to break to breathe.

"If I helped, then I'm glad," he says. "And I'll keep trying to. This is the first time in a long time that I've felt like I have a purpose."

Bull can't help but let a small moan out under the kiss. It's tender, and sweet, and it makes his head feel fuzzy and his heart run too fast. He really doesn't deserve someone as intelligent and dedicated as--

He's intelligent, too. He knows he is. But it's--

"Saving the world wasn't enough?" He keeps close, and damn, but even kissing is like being hit by a mountain in the chest. "You… you asked me if I wanted to follow the Qun. You… It's…"

His teeth sink into his lip. "You know, even talking about it here… I'm paranoid the Ben-Hassrath will hear…" 

Dorian strokes gentle fingertips along Bull's jaw, watching his face carefully. "Tell me," he says, softly. "We're in the middle of nowhere. They won't hear. And if they try anything, I'll light them on fire anyway, so you're good."

The protectiveness in his tone is unmissable, and deliberately so.

"I don't agree – never did – with everything the Qun does." It's faltering as he says it, and he turns to lightly kiss the palm by his face, so he doesn't need to look Dorian in the eyes. "I can see the merit in a lot of it. Guess I figured there was good and bad everywhere, but it was always supposed to… you were supposed to… _know_. Find purpose. Meaning. Or accept that someone knew, above you, and you were part of it…"

He's still on high alert, his body language openly showing it. Ironically, it means he's relaxed. He wouldn't normally let that reaction bleed through. 

"The Tamassrans knew I was… different. It's why they put me in the Ben-Hassrath. They usually use the local-borns, the _viddathari _when they wanted someone deep under-cover. Wouldn't work with most Qunari, they just couldn't… fake it convincingly enough. So they put my difference to use… and I was _good_ at it. Nine fucking years on Seheron! Even then, I asked them to _fix_ me, and I knew if it didn't last… that there was nothing after that… guess they thought letting me play at Tal-Vashoth meant a few more years out of me, kept my tongue from needing to be cut out like some damn _saarebas_ gone rogue. I… tried. I did. I tried…"__

__By the stars he did. Loyal Qunari. Reporting back. Reporting _himself_ back. Fighting. Fighting. Fighting…_ _

__"But what else could I even do? They weren't right, but no one else was, either, and it was – why get out of bed if you didn't have a reason, and--" It's going in his head, again. Why does it feel like that? Do 'normal' people – normal Qunari – find it so difficult just to get up and do what's expected of them? Bull's hands move to scratch at the bench. "You said… you said 'purpose'. It's. It's what I… it's what I wanted. What I didn't have." His eye flicks up, hoping Dorian understands. A Qunari without a calling, without that certain, calm surety of purpose. No wonder he was so on edge._ _

__Dorian listens – really listens – and tries to hear the meaning behind the words, as much as the words themselves. He may be overly fond of talking about himself, but he knows when to stop and pay attention instead, and whilst he may not have Bull's damn-near-supernatural intuition, he's also not an idiot._ _

__"I understand," he says, softly, still watching the other man's face. "And whilst I would never claim to know what life under the Qun is really like… I do know what it is to be different. To not match up to what you're 'supposed' to be. And… I know what it's like to have someone come along and give meaning to that. The thrill of feeling like you finally, _finally_ **fit**."_ _

__He looks down now, old pain in his eyes. Not wanting the other man to catch onto it and start talking about that instead, because it's easier, and because Dorian does have a way of drawing the conversation back to himself._ _

__But that's not the point of this._ _

__"I also know what it's like to lose that feeling," he goes on. "It hurts. It can be frightening. But I think… it can also point you towards what you really want. Perhaps what you were aiming for all along, and didn't realise."_ _

__"I thought… pain. It was… it helped… because… I would stop thinking." Bull reaches for Dorian's hands, offering, but not demanding. "I could make it go away for a while. But I was never… happy. I always knew it could happen again…"_ _

__And again. And again. How much of his life has he pissed or bled away? How many years for no real reason?_ _

__"I think I found it. No…" He noses the other's face up, the smallest of kisses, an overture to more. "I know I did. I want to make your pain go. I want to make mine go. I want to make you _happy_. And I want to fight wherever you need me by your side. I don't know how we undo what hurt, but that night… that night was the first time someone got… _me_." _ _

__Dorian kisses him again, a little more intensely, but still not trying to provoke anything._ _

__"I feel the same way," he says. "It was the strangest thing. I'd only known you a matter of days, and somehow it was just… _right_. And I think the way we solve both of our problems is together… which sounds twee, I know it does, but it isn't. Not this time."_ _

__Sometimes when you find the answer, it's the answer. Even if you got to it via an unconventional route._ _

__"Do you want to leave them? The Ben-Hassrath, I mean. And I'm not trying to provoke you into saying yes; I'd understand if you didn't. And if you don't… we can find a way to make this work. To convince them that you're still doing your job."_ _

__"What I want is secondary to whether I even could, or if I should," Bull murmurs. "Whether they send someone after me – you – and the Chargers. Whether I lose the advantage of their information. I don't have to believe in what they do, or how… they didn't think I needed to believe in this life to do it, either."_ _

__A low, low chuckle. "At some point, someone will try to work out if there's even a side to be on, or if it's simply all mirrors, and smoke, and… what really counts is the purpose, the belief, isn't it? And I would rather follow the path you blaze… and do what I can to get you what you need. But we'll know the truth…"_ _

__It still feels wrong in his mouth, on some level, even if his heart knows it isn't. Training, conditioning, fear. They curb his tongue, and make him circumspect._ _

__"Focus on the goal. On the future. The past informs us, but… all that shit about tides… you're my Qun, kadan. And if you needed me to leave them, if you asked me to, I would. But you should know… a Keeper of Illusions can keep one face for the world, and still be true. You are my ocean. You are what matters to me. And if I ever let you down… I need you to _tell_ me, so I can fix it." _ _

__And just like that, something snaps, and locks, and shifts, and Bull feels the world rotate. Like the pins in a lock all aligning to show the centre, to open the place trapped inside. He grabs his lover's neck, boring his attention to his core._ _

__Dorian doesn't look away. Doesn't even blink. He knows Bull loves him, but there's a big difference between knowing someone loves you, and hearing them swear themselves to you like that. It's a lot to process. Especially when you know you are, if you're being honest, Thedas' most fabulous walking disaster._ _

__Maybe he's more than that. Maybe Bull really does see more than even Dorian himself knows. Maybe… that's not as alarming a prospect as it first seemed._ _

__"Tell me what you need," he says, though he suspects he knows. "Tell me. Anything."_ _

__" **You** ," is Bull's adamant reply. "You. And all your insane plans to save everyone. And all your drinking, your sharp words, your sharper mind… all the songs you'll sing and all the crazy things you want to do…"_ _

__Two hands, cupping his face, fingers that draw his own version of magic over cheeks. "I want you. I want to hold you down and fuck you until you scream every word you know. I want to make love to you so slowly you can follow the stars through the sky. I want – I want to hurt anyone who ever hurt you, and – and I want to make it so they can't ever hurt you again…"_ _

__His heart thuds so fiercely he thinks he's going to explode. "I want you in ropes, stretched and held and caught. I want you in the finest clothes I can buy, knowing you're the prettiest thing the whole world ever saw. I want you covered in the blood of whoever needed killing. I want your feet on my lap while we drink cocoa. I want you to hurt me until I feel nothing but what you want me to. I want to hurt _you_ until your pain is gone, and you fly free and safe… _kadan_ … I want **everything** , and… I want… I want to see you need me as much as I need you." _ _

__That makes Dorian surge in to kiss him _hard_ , and this time he is _definitely_ trying to provoke something; even though he shouldn't, given that the house is full of rowdy Chargers slowly getting drunk. But he can't not. The man says the most wonderful things, and Dorian would like them all. Now, please._ _

__Fuck it. He breaks the kiss, turns, and climbs up into Bull's lap, straddling his hips and leaning in close once more. Decorum is for people who stay home and do as they're told._ _

__"I need you, amatus," he breathes. "I need you like I've never needed anyone or anything in my life. And I'll give you everything you're asking for, and so much more."_ _

__" _Please_." Bull knows he's acting like a ridiculous, love-struck thing, and he doesn't even know how he knows… it shouldn't be part of his make-up. He shouldn't have either the drive, or the ability. But that aching, gnawing, longing pang that's been there for so many years… it's pulled like the skin over a drum, and Dorian sets it singing with every glance, every touch. _ _

__His hands rove up the other man's back, from the curve to his shoulders, pushing him in closer so his lips can wrap around buckles and his tongue can work to unfasten them. "Want you to ride me," he murmurs, as he licks and nips at skin he bares. "Want you to hold my horns and ride me. Scratch me, bite me, take everything you need from me, and know it's not close to the end. Want you to-- tell me what you want, what you _need_. All of it. Want to hear you say it. Want to watch you _lose_ it in my arms, and keep you there, when you're done."_ _

__Both hands under his ass, grinding him into his belly, into his lap, as he closes his mouth around Dorian's throat to suck a bruise right over the swell._ _

__Dorian moans unashamedly at that, and then leans in to speak into Bull's ear._ _

__"Right here?" he asks. "Where _anyone_ might see us..?" From his tone, he is not at all averse to the idea. "Or shall we drag each other behind the nearest tree..?"_ _

__He's far too much of an exhibitionist to feel the need to go anywhere at all, but considerate enough to offer. Plus, the line 'where anyone might see us' is universally hot. Or, it is in Dorian's book, at least._ _

__"If you haven't noticed, the whole family knows we're fucking, and is glad I'm happy… plus, if they hear us screaming and come running, then it's on their own heads for being stupid." Bull bites more marks along his neck and throat._ _

__"Most importantly, you're fucking _amazing_. I won't be ashamed if anyone sees me pleasuring you. I'll be glad they're jealous… because… _damn_. But if you don't want them to hear, you can bite your screams into my neck. Let them fucking watch. There's nothing to hide, except our dicks. In one another. Repeatedly." _ _

__And this time, he knows there won't be any need to hide the next morning. Some of them might not want to discuss it, of course, but none of them would disapprove._ _

__Dorian gives a soft laugh. "And here I was thinking you were the good one…" he murmurs, and pushes a hand down between them so he can give the other man a firm stroke over his clothing, promising so very much more. Plus he doesn't want to dissuade Bull from the oh-so-lovely things he's doing to Dorian's neck, which are going to leave some very visible marks._ _

__Something else he's not averse to. At all._ _

__And then, because Dorian is _certainly_ not the good one, he draws the fingernails of his free hand across Bull's back. The physical act is firm enough to be felt but not enough to mark, although this is rather secondary to the fact that he lets magic flare beneath those same fingertips again as they move. And this time, it's not sparks but ice._ _

__" _Saartoh nehrappan tic!_ Fucking-- ICE DICK STICK!" Bull clearly approves of that, because he yells the Qunlat before he can think of it, then slips into Common because – well – some things are worth screaming about twice. "You insane monster… seducing me with your magic!"_ _

__Do it again, is what he really means._ _

__He slips a hand up under the flaps of fabric, and grabs a fist full of buttock to knead as firmly as he can. He bites at the corner of Dorian's jaw, growling in an entirely too-happy way, before he's grabbing hair and pulling back for more throat. "Just _how_ rough do we think you can manage, kadan? How much of a fight will you put up to get what you need?" _ _

__"That depends on how much you think you can handle, doesn't it, amatus?" Dorian replies, with what is no doubt the wickedest grin Bull has ever provoked in him so far. "You know I like it when you _take_ me… when you _use_ me… but let us not forget that I can be _very_ dangerous when I want to be…"_ _

__As if in demonstration, he arches back as much as possible, so that there's space between them when he sends a sudden wall of force slamming into the other man: certainly enough to knock him backwards. Though given that Bull also has a very firm hold on him, this means that when Bull goes, they both do. Helpfully, Dorian lands on top, with that wicked grin still in place._ _

__And he's _very_ excited to see how Bull reacts. There are a number of possibilities, after all, and every one is good in its own way._ _

__"If the fight isn't worth getting out of bed for – or back into bed for – it's not worth having," Bull counters, and grabs hips to lift Dorian nearly off him, only to slam his ass back down into his lap and grind him there, like he's just a toy to rub against._ _

__One knee bends, the foot planting. And then he's using his weight and strength to try to roll them over, grabbing for his hands, trying to subdue them. "I know your watchword… so why don't you try to stop me taking you? Make me _work_ for it…" _ _

__He's back to undressing him, utterly unashamed about wrestling in the allotment. Anyone who knows him will know to stay clear, right now. " **Fight back**. When you surrender, it'll be so. Much. Sweeter." _ _

___Fuck_ , but that is so very hot, and Dorian has to concentrate not to just give in right now and revel in it, because… _because_. Yes. But he knows it _will_ be more fun to make Bull work for it, and he has every intention of doing so._ _

__He lets the other man pin him on his back – because it's _good_ , damn it – and because even the barest hint of complacency will make the next part more effective. He's careful to make sure Bull holds his hands down by interlocking their fingers, though, rather than going for his wrists._ _

__That won't work many times. The man is smart. He'll learn._ _

__And then Dorian lets magic spill from both palms: ice from one and flame from the other. Dual-casting different schools at once is _difficult_ – which means this is also him showing off – but his primary aim is to throw the other man off balance long enough to scrabble out from under him._ _

__The chortle that gets him is genuine, proud, and utterly loving. This is right. This is what it should be… mutually enjoyable, mutually understood, and a game of wits as much as muscle. Bull shakes his hands to get the feeling out, and then surges after him, lunging to close the distance._ _

__"Oh-ho, not that easily… don't you know everyone in Thedas can see where you stand?" He drags his eyes down to Dorian's crotch. "Don't pretend you don't dream of this. In the dark, when the candle gutters. Brutish hands on your pretty, shiny buckles…"_ _

__Bull grabs hold, but it's fabric, and it rips. Undeterred, he keeps pulling, unravelling threads and not quite going all out, not immediately. He's aiming to control and contain, not overwhelm. "Tell me, was that your first fantasy? Some big, bad monster come to use you, abuse you?"_ _

__Dorian's heart is racing a little harder now, but not enough to deter him, and this time it's a full-on bolt of lightning he sends flying towards the other man. Aiming is tricky at this angle, though, so he has to focus more than is helpful and it costs him a moment of movement._ _

__"Yes, actually," he says, because there really is no point denying these things where Bull is concerned. Also it can never be bad to give the man ideas. "Except there were more chains."_ _

__A lot more. Also some weaponry. Cold walls. Graphic descriptions of what was coming. The usual. (Right?)_ _

__"Chains…" Bull clucks, disapprovingly, as he ducks and misses some of the energy, the rest crackling over his shoulder. The sting is bright, and his skin flares with the sensation, which only serves to pique his interest _further_._ _

__Bull charges, and grabs at Dorian's hands, trying to flip him onto his belly and pin his wrists behind his back. " **Rope**. Chains maybe better to stop mages burning through them, but they're _cold_ and _impersonal_. They catch and pinch…"_ _

__He uses his knee to push Dorian's legs wider. " **Ropes**. Warm like hands. Silky, like kisses, but a knot in the right place can burn like black powder… bright colours and the flesh going pale beneath… watching it breathe as you try to pull in air… fingers putting each loop in place, stroking softly despite the bite and sting… Chains are for the enemy. _Rope_ is for someone you want to _trap and catch_."_ _

__This is hardly the time to be arguing the relevant merits of different restraint methods, but somehow Bull makes it work, and Dorian is _definitely_ distracted for longer than he should be. Which is why he gets himself pinned down so quickly (OK, _mostly_ why)._ _

__"Ah, but it was a _fantasy_ ," he points out, sounding a little breathless now. " _Enemies_ were part of the theme. But if you think I made the wrong choice, you could always prove it to me sometime…"_ _

__For now, a little more magic is in order, and this time it doesn't come from Dorian's hands but from above them both: a crackling cage of static that sends bolts flying at Bull over and over, gloriously unpredictable and lasting for as long as he can make it._ _

__The next flare is harder to coast, but Bull turns the hold into a sudden heavy, dead weight and a hand shoving Dorian's face to one side, to better push him into the ground. The sensation washes through him, painful but in that way that just means it feels too good, and he thrusts firmly at his ass, showing just how much he likes it. Well, when the spasms from the blast fade enough._ _

__"I'd start you out in chains. Heavy, unyielding. Lock up your hands. Hold you in place… but I'd break you. I'd break the fight out of you. Not all of it… but just enough. With the right stimulus…"_ _

__He scores short fingernails up under Dorian's shirt, over the panting side of his flank. "I'd train your body and mind to follow me. I'd push you until you fit me perfectly… and you'd beg me for the rope, before long."_ _

__A sudden hand lift, and then he's slapping the ass-check of the man he's all but lying flat out over. "Show you how good it is to be mine. Until you're begging for my collar to show the world you _submit_ to me. And even then… you only do it because it _works_. Knots to keep you hard, knots to keep you in place. You claim you don't want it… but you crave it to your grave. _And I hold you down and give you what you need and can't ask for_."_ _

__It is really, really challenging for Dorian not to just _surrender_ at that. The other man says the most _lovely_ things, and he'd very much like them to happen._ _

__But… he also knows Bull enjoys the struggle. And, if he's being honest, he does too. Although maybe a change of tack is in order, given that the magic isn't going to gain him the advantage unless he _seriously_ lets loose, and that isn't advisable outside of a mage-on-mage duel (or an actual life-or-death _fight_ , of course). Plus he doesn't want to leave his mana utterly depleted, because _that_ is bad form. And unhelpful should you need it later; which he might, especially if presented with another opportunity to show off._ _

__So… physical resistance it is, then. Which he can pretty much do what he likes with, given that he's never going to beat Bull in a straight-up hand-to-hand encounter._ _

__But that makes it more fun, of course._ _

__He tries to push back as hard as he can, attempting to get a knee under himself to use as leverage, and simultaneously trying to yank his hands free._ _

__"If you think I'll just give in, you're going to have to try a lot harder than that."_ _

__"If you gave in, why would I respect you?" Bull twists a wrist up between shoulders, letting the other go out of sportsmanship, and allowing the knee, but only because it lifts his ass enough for Bull's thigh to slam up and against his balls. And then his weight drops down over Dorian's shoulders, forcing his face to stay down, keeping him where he wants him._ _

__"Tell me, Vint… just _how much_ pain do you enjoy? Did you dream of silverite to the throat? Your legs spread until your joints clicked? Did you wonder what it would be like to wear spots and stripes from bites and bruises for days on end? Did you want marks, did you want blood? Did the idea of death excite you?"_ _

__He bites hard on his earlobe, just shy of drawing blood. "Did you want them to hate you? Or just hurt you? Was it because it was more terrifying to be loved?"_ _

__This is an interesting question. Dorian is not at all sure how much pain he _does_ enjoy, although given the way things have gone so far, he suspects it's more than he thought at first. And he's certainly eager to find out._ _

__"Sometimes hate, sometimes hurt," he answers, because that part is easier. "An emotional connection makes it more intimate. A _lack_ of one makes it more primal. Both have their place. Though I was always most fond of ones that started as hate and ended in hurt, because it's pleasing to make people want you. Even the bad ones."_ _

__He tries to struggle again, but he can't – not with that wrist pinned between his shoulderblades – and after a moment he drops his head, because it _does_ hurt and he's having to fight to focus._ _

__It's… it actually stings to hear that. Bull wants to protect him so fucking much. How horrible it must have been to need to draw such tales inside of his head… "I'll give you all of it," he husks, almost angry. Maybe angry. It's a confusing mess of emotion, which would be best described only in terms of intensity, rather than qualified by type._ _

__Bull uses one hand to unfasten one of his many leather belts, and then wrestles Dorian's hands together behind his back, like the first time they met. He knows it'll prick at memories, and that's the point. "Such a pretty little thing. So small. I could crush you so easily… all you have is your magic, and I could take that away… then you'd be helpless."_ _

__He doesn't. Of course. But he knows the memory of that, and the 'threat' of it, is more than enough right now. "You can't stop me. You can try all you like, but I've decided I want you, and I get what I want." Which is true, but Bull wants Dorian _happy_ , of course, so it's really a moot point. "I'm going to take you. It's up to you if you enjoy it or not. _Pervert_. Wanting a Qunari monster to pin you down, rip your clothes off, force you to accept the defilement of your body. What's wrong? Your dick only work when someone else is inside you? You not man enough to get it up without help?" _ _

__That does sting at Dorian's chest, although he can't deny that some part of him enjoys it as well, and precisely what that means, he's not sure. It certainly warrants further consideration, but… later. When he's not pinned to the floor with his hands bound, and _very_ aware that he's caught now._ _

__And _that_ is making him ache with need. Especially with all the memories it's sparking to the fore. How things could have gone. How, at one point, he thought they might._ _

__"How original," he throws back, trying to sound rebellious and not, in fact, like he wants to be ravaged now, please and thank you. "What are you planning to do next, insult my fashion sense? We can talk when you've learned how shirts work."_ _

__Yes, he's asking for it. Possibly he wants to know what 'it' is._ _

__"If I wore a shirt, you wouldn't be able to ogle my manly tits. And I'm sure you used all your imagination up thinking of that retort, so I wouldn't want to put the burden of mentally undressing me on you." Bull pulls out his knife, and sits up enough that he can push the blade into the seam down the gusset of Dorian's trousers. He snicks through the stitches, careful not to go beyond the fabric, and then turns the blade in his hand, using the hilt to press between his buttocks._ _

__"You better hope you're a good fuck-toy, because if you're not, I'll just leave you here when I'm done. Ass dripping, hands tied, thrown out like a rag after a quick wank."_ _

__The hilt starts to slide firmly between his cheeks, and push just at his rim. Bull's other hand rips the trousers wider, giving him all the access he needs. "What, you give up so soon?"_ _

__Dorian is well-aware he's not getting out of this unless he actually sets the other man on fire, which he's not going to do on account of being terribly fond of him. But having to hold back like that is another restriction all on its own: an awareness of how much he relies on his magic, and how lost he'd be without it._ _

__He knows this of course. Spending all that time around the bloody templar was proof enough._ _

__"I'm not giving up. I'm just waiting for you to spot something shiny so you can wander off after that instead."_ _

__The bite is gone from his tone, though, and he sounds like he might be genuinely worried. Which would be a concern, if he wasn't also achingly hard._ _

__"You mean, shinier than your _buckles_? I realise your self-defence mechanism of 'blind them with bling' isn't as effective after dark." Bull pushes the knife into the grass, almost to the handgrip, right next to Dorian's head, just at the edge of where he can focus._ _

__Then he grabs the belt that is all that remains structurally sound of the upper part of Dorian's trousers, hoisting him so he has only toes and upper body on the ground, and then pushes two fingers into him._ _

__He knows Dorian can take it, because it's not that long (relatively speaking) since they last enjoyed each other, but it's on the limit of what he can take, and he lets the satisfaction roll through his voice. "Oh, such a good little slut. You came prepared, or you're so slack from all the monsters who've used you that there's no lock on the door. Tell me, have you _ever_ said 'no'? Do you even know what that word means?"_ _

__" _Fuck_ ," Dorian gasps out, the sudden intrusion making him feel as though his mind is being pushed **down**. "I don't… I won't… I…"_ _

__Not going to beg. Not. Not for mercy, not for more. Even though different parts of his brain want both. He's a little terrified by all this: by the fake-but-believable reality of what he's imagined for so long, and by the awareness that he _does_ still want it. Plus it helps – or doesn't, or both – that Bull is so very convincing._ _

__The pleas strangle in his throat, and he has to bite his lip to keep from choking them out. But he can only resist for so long._ _

__"Look at your prick… waving in the wind, begging for this. It's not even that you don't _care_ so long as you get it… it's that you think you **deserve** it… that you need it to hurt… that you think you're so broken, so wrong, that it _should_ be a nightmare… the only way you can accept being wanted…"_ _

__Bull twists his fingers, swirling deep, dragging his insides wider and then pushing against his prostate. His fingers part, then squeeze around the nub._ _

__" _Vint_. **Magister**. _**Disgusting, desperate, queer, perverted, deviant, filth**_." He spits the words out, but then the fingers corkscrew deeper, and he pushes him back into the grass. "That's what you tell yourself. Only a monster could want a monster." _ _

__He straddles him, then, and breathes hot over his neck. " _Kadan_." _ _

__Dorian's mind breaks a little at that. Maybe a lot. He's not entirely sure, because he's not entirely in it anymore. "Don't," he gasps, and he sounds like he's breaking too. "Please, I…"_ _

__Maybe some part of him does want to be _wrong_ , so he can justify the way the world seems to feel about him. So he can marry up (hah) the darkness within and the darkness without, and make sense of it. Life is harder when it doesn't make sense. When it does – even if it's bad – you can deal with it._ _

__But when it doesn't, when it's sweepingly irrational and nothing will make it resolve? That's the real monster, and it's been under Dorian's bed for too long._ _

__"…I'll do anything. Just take what you want…"_ _

__Because that, if nothing else, implies you want what you take._ _

__" ** _Kadan_**." Firmer, this time, as Bull removes his fingers, then wraps his arm around Dorian's hips to hold him as he thrusts up, and in. "You're wrong. You're _wrong_." _ _

__His movements are sharp, deep, slow… but the rub of his cheek to his lover's is soft, sweet, and so very raw. "I'll give you what you need. I'll make it hurt if you need. I'll make it sting, if it's what you need. _But you are not what they said you are_." _ _

__That makes Dorian gasp like he's been hit in the chest, and his mind reels as he tries to focus through the haze. "You… you want…"_ _

__The illusion shatters, and he's suddenly shaking like he's just been pulled from icy water. "Please," he gasps again, but it's different this time. More raw, more honest. "Please. I need you. I _want_ you. I'll give you anything, just… please… _I need to be yours_."_ _

__One arm still around his waist, pulling his ass up just enough so he can roll their bodies together, and the other goes around his neck, not chokingly, but cuddling, embracing, supporting. Bull kisses at his cheek, his jaw, his nose._ _

__"I _want_ you. Only you. I _need_ you. I **love** you. All of you. Even the bits you don't love, yourself. Even if you pretend you don't have any."_ _

__The speed starts to pick up, as Bull braces himself to use all of his strength. He rumbles by his kadan's face, murmuring affection and hunger in equal measure. "No one like you, kadan. No one. Only you. _Only you_. You're mine. I'm yours. _I love you_. And I'm _never letting you go_." _ _

__Dorian's mind has been pulled this way and that, and right now he's lost somewhere in his own head. He leans into the comfort, though, because it feels so very good, and he wants it. _Craves_ it, at least as much as he craves darker things._ _

__Which he still does. And that's something he's going to have to consider more carefully, when he can think properly again._ _

__Right now, he tries to press back against the other man, chasing more. Anything. _Him_._ _

__"Please," he whispers. "Please keep me forever."_ _

__"Forever. Even when you're old and grey and can't remember where you left your staff, if we live that long. Forever, kadan, I--" It catches in Bull's chest, how damn much he feels it, how… easy it is to say it, because he knows it's true. Knows it in the same way a river knows to flow down the mountainside. Knows it like flowers turning to face the sun. It's just… right. And the more he hears in Dorian's voice, the deeper the tendrils wind into his own heart, and the more he knows he has to protect him. Cherish him. Adore him. Stay with him._ _

__It's that sense of rightness, of duty and love and inexorable need that has been so long missing, and now just… works. It eases old pains, and causes fresh, arterial-red new ones. Gushing through him, alive and bright._ _

__"Use your magic, kadan. Bind me. I'll be the only demon you need. Make me yours, like you are mine."_ _

__His fist curls around the mage's cock, and he's close, so fucking close. His toes dig into the dirt as he tries to drive that last bit over the edge. " _Do it_." _ _

__Dorian's hands may be bound, but there's a lot he can do without ever really moving them. Like this… palms flattening to touch the other man gently, fingertips slightly spread, a moment of concentration, and… _light_. But it isn't fire or sparks, oh no: this time it's slow, glowing tendrils that spread out to encircle them both, like lines of rope but with no pressure to them; coursing slowly over skin in a strangely beautiful pattern._ _

__It's a trick that's generally done by magic-using slaves as a way for their masters to show off – because it looks at its best when viewed by an observer – and Dorian isn't sure if Bull will know that or not. But… it seems right. And he learned a lot during his wild youth._ _

__And the symbolism feels somehow appropriate._ _

__" _Amatus_ ," he breathes, "let me… please… I'm so close…"_ _

__"Come for me." He can't deny him – how could he ever, for long? How could Bull ever want anything but the very best, the most perfect of things for his beloved? He kisses him, slipping his tongue oh so softly inside as his hand twists and slams. His legs shake from knee to ass, the fierce storm of pleasure still swelling, still torrential… but oddly calm at the exact same moment._ _

__His climax feels strangely peaceful, even as it makes his body clench and tense. He moans in appreciation, pouring it down his lover's throat as his slams become slower, slower, rocking and coasting._ _

__Dorian comes so hard, he feels like he might black out; his whole body shaking in the other man's grip until he's utterly spent. Any last shred of physical resistance or strength seems to drop out of him at the same time, and when he collapses down, the whole world is distant._ _

__Distant, and quiet. He lies where he is, drifting, as though the edges of the Fade itself are lapping at his mind, and it feels _really_ good. Especially with Bull still holding him, even though his hands have been rough. Dorian knows what it really means._ _

__He tries to say something, but all he manages is a murmur. It sounds like a very happy one, though._ _

__Bull can feel the pliant, easy give of the man – _his_ man: his **kadan** – below him. And he knows he's heavy, so he carefully arranges their limbs so he's not trapping anything, so Dorian is blanketed from above, supported where he needs it, and cuddled below him. _ _

__They stay coupled, and he feels every twitch, every breath, as he starts to nibble playfully and affectionately at his jaw. "That's right," he purrs. "So good. So good. Mmm. Love this. Love _you_. So fucking good. Mean it… all of it…" The words matter less than the tone and emotion below them, as he rolls their hips subtly and slowly. "So fucking good. All of you. _Damn_ but I'd do anything for you. I swear. I swear…"_ _

__'And I for you,' Dorian tries to say, but it's just another murmur, lost in his mental haze. He still sounds adoring, and… both lost and found, all at once. He aches from the rough treatment, but it's a good, good ache, and he wants to just lie here and enjoy it for as long as reasonably possible._ _

__Especially if Bull keeps holding him. Things are different when the other man does that. Dorian feels safe. Feels _right_._ _

__It feels like three ages later when Bull is ready to move. There's smashing sounds and happy yells in the distance, which just makes him feel proud, and safe, and… at home. He knows the Chargers are good, and he knows they'd protect Dorian and himself, if it came to it. It's.. it's good. It's right._ _

__"Kadan," he murmurs. "You might get cold, and if you come around and you're in ripped clothes, I don't fancy my horns' chances. You think I could take you back and get you cleaned and dressed?"_ _

__"…y'could do anything you want with me…" Dorian manages, which is flirting and assent all at once. Because he can multi-task, and because he is – deep down – very, very bad._ _

__He'd like to be taken indoors, though. Whilst he may have just about learned to tolerate nature, a lack of it is always preferable. And indoors is where the bed is._ _

__"That much is true, but it is still nice to be polite. At times." Bull rocks against his ass one more time before he's pulling out, and going to one knee to scoop the mage against his chest. "Other times, I'll just take what I want."_ _

__Which will be what Dorian wants, too, of course. Bull cradles him in neatly, and puts an arm to cover his modesty as he rises to take him inside. "You are **mine** , after all." _ _

__Wisely, people stay back as he takes his beloved into the bedroom, then lies him gently down and strips him by degrees._ _

__Mmmm. Yes. Dorian agrees with this sentiment. A lot._ _

__He lies where he is, still drifting on happy, distant waves but blinking hazily up at Bull in the process, with a very honest smile on his face. It's… weirdly nice, to be taken care of._ _

__"I could get used to this," he murmurs. "Maybe we should stay here forever…"_ _

__He knows it's not possible really, but it's a nice image. So long as the Chargers did regular deliveries of wine and books. Oh yes._ _

__"You really think you'd last another week? I think you'd go insane. But we could definitely do holidays… nice, long rests…" Bull gets a simple shirt and some soft trousers out, easing Dorian into them._ _

__Not quite bedclothes, and not anything like Dorian would dare be seen out in public in. But comfortable, nicely cut, good fabric, and on the sheer side._ _

__That done, he lowers himself onto the bed beside him, propping his head on one hand, tangling their legs together, and idly running fingers over his side._ _

__"I'm not the 'settle down' type. Not in a place, anyway. If you don't mind the adventures, though… you should consider me settled in all other ways." He pinches a butt-cheek, just lightly. "Slay a dragon here… stage a coup there… three-day sex marathons here… maybe we catch a play. I'd even take you to the opera, if you wanted." And they let him in. "Can't promise I wouldn't be jerking you off while the fat lady sang…"_ _

__"I detest opera," Dorian says, still sounding very faraway. "So pretentious. The wine is usually good, though, and if you're going to jerk me off, it will make the evening profoundly more enjoyable…"_ _

__He curls in closer, very affectionate and seeking more contact. "Honestly, I'm not the settle-down type either. Sometimes I wish I was."_ _

__Though if he was to settle down somewhere, he'd want it to be in Tevinter. Somewhere warm. Large house. Personal library. Maybe an outdoor pool. Neighbours to scandalise with his big, Qunari boyfriend. Mmmmm._ _

__"Maybe we should go to the opera… for the wine and the opportunity for you to howl in public and no one can complain… or you could sit on my lap for a better view… I'm sure plenty would talk about that." Bull smirks, trailing tiny kisses and clearly very, very happy to snuggle as closely as possible._ _

__It's nice. The physical contact, but also the sense of safety and knowing Dorian reciprocates the insane things he's thinking and feeling._ _

__"We could do… a few summer homes. Places we stay between things. Until we need some variety… that could work. Why limit ourselves? I can more than earn the coin to keep you in wine, books, and very large beds. And we can kick asses and I can watch you do the fire thing and…" His face goes into Dorian's neck as he blurbles a very happy noise that says maybe that's a new kink. Yup. Powerful Tevinter mage boyfriend kicking ass? Absolutely._ _

__"…are you sore anywhere? And… I'm assuming I wasn't too hard on you?" He hooks a finger under his chin, making sure their eyes meet. "I know you want some… complicated things. So it's important to make sure I do them right. And I'm guessing you never did them before, just… wanted to."_ _

__"You were _very_ hard on me," Dorian reminds him, in a tone of voice that makes it quite clear he approves. "And… you're right, I've never done anything like this before. Imagined it a great deal, but not beyond that. I didn't have anyone to do it with. Sex was… just sex. I mean good, obviously, but not…"_ _

__Not this. Not you. Not someone he can actually trust with the parts of himself that he usually keeps hidden behind a carefully-constructed (and deeply fabulous) facade._ _

__"I still don't know everything I do want. Sometimes you imagine things you don't want in reality, after all. But… I know I want to keep exploring. Want _us_ to keep exploring. And if that includes you enjoying my _significant_ magical talent… well, it would be rude of me not to share…"_ _

__"If it's something you imagine, but might not want to do… I'm _very_ interested in hearing about it. Maybe we don't actually do it, but say we might…?" Because Bull has plenty of dark dreams of his own, which would absolutely not be something he'd do in practice. But the thought of speaking them aloud? That has him rolling his shoulders in anticipation. _ _

__"The magic shit? Yeah. Can't say I'd ever have agreed to it with anyone else, but… it's hot when it's you. And how modest you are." He rolls onto his back, pulling Dorian on top again, just so he can reach more of him with his hands. Lazy, caring touches. Not trying to arouse, just… enjoying the proximity and ease of existence together._ _

__"So… you get fantasies… ever… I wanna hear them. And if there's ones you really, really want to _try_ , I'm game. Maybe have a few of my own…" Fond. That's the only word to cover his current expression. It's not intense enough, but that's what it is. Fond, but multiplied a thousand-fold. "Just so long as we know if something doesn't work out, there's no harm."_ _

__Dorian curls in over him, head tucked under the other man's jaw. He's not exactly short for a human, which means being with someone so much taller than him is still something of a novelty._ _

__"I might be persuaded to share," he says. "But only because I know you have _quite_ a thing for talking dirty…" He does too, obviously, but that's partly because he has a thing for talking full-stop. "And, who knows, maybe there might be a few good ideas in there…"_ _

__A happy little shiver. Yes. So much possibility._ _

__"I trust you," he adds, more seriously. "So… we explore together. And it's all right to say 'never again' to something if it doesn't work out. Better that than missing out on something amazing through over-caution…"_ _

__Which is not something he's ever been known for._ _

__"Mmm, don't laugh… you know I _like_ the rough stuff… but I'm gonna say it." Bull's hands comb down Dorian's spine, enjoying feeling him breathe, feeling the solid, sure weight of him. _ _

__It has to be both ways, so… "I like this maybe even more. After. When you're… calmer. When you're relaxed, and… yeah. I like when you've been fucked. It feels like something changed, and…" he squeezes a little tighter. "Morning sex. When you're not fully awake. Slipping into you, or waking you up with my hands… maybe you wake me up with your mouth… mmmmn. Just… no rush… only pleasure for hours on end… I like that a _lot_."_ _

__Which isn't to say he doesn't like the furious, energetic stuff. He really, really does. But that means you can _after_ have the slower, less-fraught stuff. And it feels good in entirely new ways. "Sometimes think about just… kissing you for hours, like… coming is the last thing we want. Literally, I mean. When it's not a fight, just… the end of a really, really good fucking stretch and yawn…" _ _

__Dorian smiles, and kisses his jaw. "I like that too. No pressure. No expectations. Just… _us_. Plus it's so very nice to be wanted." And OK, yes, there's an edge of that in the rougher stuff. But it's more _real_ when it's gentle, because there's nothing else to hide behind._ _

__"Maybe I'll find new ways to surprise you," he adds, tracing fingertips over Bull's chest. "Low pulses of magic into your skin whilst you're half-asleep… not to hurt, oh no, just to feel really, _really_ good…"_ _

__Did he mention he's an extremely powerful mage? He is. And something of a deviant one, at least by societal norms. He may not have written one of the (surprisingly numerous) books of dirty spells, but he certainly could, if he wanted._ _

__" _Kadan_." It sounds both 'I fucking love you so much there aren't even words' and 'do that right now and never stop', all in one word. Bull squirms, and his legs slip that little bit further apart. "Mmmn, maybe you could do that to my ass while I'm fucking you… I _like_ stuff there. But I also **really** like your butt. It's a very, very nice butt."_ _

__He's still too tired for it to be much more than teasing, not-quite tingles in his groin, but that means it lasts for-fucking-ever, and Bull can't help but let his lips curve whenever Dorian's do. Fucking mage, controlling him with his… _happiness_. He's so whipped. _ _

__"I **do** want you. If you hadn't noticed. Enough to – to say I'd leave the Qun." Which. Still slightly freaked about. "And it's… uh… nice to know you… don't just want me for my dick. I mean… that's mostly what people see. Big Qunari. Strong. Big cock. Good stamina… not that it was a problem. Just…" Bull gulps, and his hands move to pressure points, to nerve clusters, kneading lightly at muscles. "They didn't want… _me_. And I know I didn't want them… but I do. Want you. And I'm not used to… anyone wanting _that_. I didn't know **I** did, until you turned up." _ _

__Dorian nips at his jaw again, just light and teasing, wanting to give back. "Don't get me wrong, the physical side is _very_ appealing. Even more than I imagined until we tried it. But you… you see things other people don't, either because they couldn't, or didn't care enough to try. And you cared enough to go to great lengths to save my life."_ _

__"But don't think I'm settling," he adds, because it's important to say so. "I'm not. I'm _very_ particular, in case you haven't noticed. I want you because I _want you_. Not just because you want me. And… _kaffas_ … you really have turned me into a soppy mess, haven't you..?"_ _

__From the affection in his voice, this is not actually a problem._ _

__"So I'm the one to blame? You came on to me!" Bull throws his head back, chuckling. "Although I think at first you just wanted to get free. And also… you know. _Do_ have a big dick…" That much he's absolutely sure of. He knows he's well-endowed, even for a Qunari, and he also knows he's good at using it, and the rest of his body. So. No shame in that. _ _

__He pushes their noses together, his smile going wider, and more wicked. "You were naturally soppy. You did this to _me_. I wanted a good fight, maybe followed by a good fuck, and you went and made me… _romantic_. You little shit." _ _

__Which is a good time for more kisses. Around snorts, and smiles, and touches meant to draw out sensations, not rush things. And then a few more kisses, and fingers that push hair the wrong way. "I don't think you're settling. I _am_ good at what I do. And what I do is: you." And bad jokes. "…you do realise there's a party going on, like you've been complaining about missing, and we're cuddling in bed instead of getting drunk? You _have_ changed." _ _

__"The night is young, amatus, and so am I," Dorian points out. "Wild sex before drinking just makes the drinking more fun. And the prospect of further wild sex is always there…"_ _

__He hasn't so much changed as… discovered there are other things you can get drunk on._ _

__"And I only came on to you at first because I was trying to escape from the dangerous lunatics who had taken me hostage… although I wouldn't have tried it with the damn templar unless I was _really_ desperate. And then _you_ had to go and be all reasonable and intelligent as well as powerful and well-endowed, and I didn't stand a chance. Although at first I figured you'd just throw me over a log and ravish me, which sounded very nice at the time, but what _actually_ happened was even better."_ _

__"Well… we could do that log thing sometime. You know. Now you're totally safe and the worst that might happen is splinters, leg cramps, or walking funny. Maybe… maybe I'll 'take out' the anger I had on you, now you're able to really enjoy it…" Bull tangles his fingers in hair, and pulls firmly, but not harshly. "Can't say I wasn't tempted. Physically, anyway. You _are_ damn pretty, and pretty damn convincing… just…"_ _

__He licks along his throat, then plucks the curl of his moustache with his lips. "If you'd come onto me in an inn… anywhere else… I'd've taken you up on it. But I liked you too much for it not to be what you _really_ wanted. And I still wanted that fight. I was… angry. And you didn't deserve to take that anger. Not… how I wanted to give it, at first. It's just a shame you didn't really get to see what I did to the fucking templar. It was _not_ pretty. And if you hadn't been so sick, I would have taken **longer**. And then victory-fucked you." _ _

__Dorian gives a low growl of pleasure at that, arching back at the tug and baring his neck. "We should. You… all rough and angry, and me… resisting but secretly _wanting_. And… perhaps not-so-secretly as well…"_ _

__His eyes drift closed; easier to sink into the fantasy than remember the reality. "I wish I had gotten to see. It would have been satisfying. I'm not normally the vindictive sort… but I'd make an exception in _his_ case."_ _

__And then some. He is not accustomed to feeling genuinely _afraid_._ _

__"I buried my axe so far into his chest I couldn't pull it out. And then I slit his throat. Which… reminds me… I need to take you shopping. You'll need a new staff, and I need a new axe…" And Bull hopes he hasn't just killed the mood with talking about the asshole._ _

__"Plus, you'll be wanting the staff if we re-match. So I can take you _properly_ down. Maybe pour just alcohol down your throat… to make you more pliable…" _ _

__He certainly hasn't killed the mood. Being reminded that the other man literally killed someone for him is not something Dorian takes lightly. And at the rest, he raises his eyebrows, smiling again. "…You want to take me shopping? You do realise I already said I wanted to stay with you forever and let you use my body to satisfy your every whim?"_ _

__Which is his way of saying that sounds like a very good idea. And it is. He may be able to do plenty without a staff, but he can do _even more_ with one. And it's essential if he's travelling, because you never know whether there's bandits around the next corner. Or… Venatori._ _

__Bull smirks. "I do remember that part. Doesn't mean I should get complacent. You're _cute_ when you're happy. I like happy Dorian. I also like grumpy Dorian, but in a different way. And you probably want some new enchanted items… you know. Mages and their shiny shit…" _ _

__And Dorian is even more of a magpie than most. "Know a couple of places, a few merchants who sell the good stuff. Maybe I could help when you're picking some of it… you know. For the assessment of how good your ass looks. Though maybe we should be putting you in more easy-access stuff so I don't end up ripping it all off you…"_ _

__"Much as it is _very_ hot when you do that, it does deplete one's wardrobe," Dorian agrees. "But I want at least _something_ with buckles…"_ _

__Because buckles are _in_. Especially the way he wears them._ _

__"And I could happily go for something enchanted. I didn't have much when I left Tevinter, and now I'm down to a single amulet. And you know, it really does make a difference between smooth and effortless in combat situations."_ _

__"Is that your way of asking for a ring?" Bull picks up his hand, turning it to kiss the palm. "Because these ones are pretty, but I can get you better ones. And whatever else you need. What's the point of being a cut-throat mercenary if not to spend it all on sparkly shit for your kadan, fine wine, and good meals? Hmmm?"_ _

__He can't see much point. Money is useful. The Qun don't believe in it, but the Qun also don't believe in cookies. Which means he knows for certain that Koslun didn't have everything right._ _

__"Buckles… but also things I can push down and get to that ripe, sweet butt. Maybe when we're out and about… then I can pull them up again, and it won't show that you're _dripping_ , and only you and I will know how your pants are full of jizz…" Bull slices his finger through the crease of his trousers to illustrate it. _ _

__"So… you want to show the kids how drinking is _really_ done, while you recover enough for me to fuck you to the Fade and back, possibly several times over?"_ _

__"A ring?" Dorian repeats, though there's a genuine flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Imagine the scandal when I take you home! But if you want to ask, I shall have to answer…"_ _

__Which… says more than an actual answer ever could, coming from him._ _

__"As to the rest… yes, I would like that a lot," he adds, faux-flatly. "All of it. Including the second half."_ _

__But also the first. He has been _far_ too sober of late._ _

__"I'd apologise in advance, but that would require me to be sorry," he adds._ _

__Bull turns the hand again, and lingeringly kisses his knuckles, before letting a flicker of tongue play between two digits. "I'll ride to the Imperium. Inform your father he can give his blessing or not, but either way, you are officially off the market. Even for nice, Tevinter boys. And any further attempts to control you will be met with extreme force. Of my axe. To his hands, and then his face. And ask if he's contributing to the wine or the ale fund for the celebrations."_ _

__Then he looks up. "I'd go, you know. If you wanted. I'd go to Minrathous with you. But for now… come enjoy your welcome home party. And when you find the ring you like the most…" He catches his face again, for a lingering, tongue-pushing kiss. Breaks, with a little growl. "Then I'll ask. And we'll need another party to celebrate."_ _

__Dorian doesn't know how he can ask Bull to go to Minrathous with him. Pretending he wants to run away forever will work for a time, but the truth is… he'll have to go back eventually. And it would be almost as dangerous for Bull there as it would be for Dorian in Par Vollen._ _

__But… he already knows he'll have to find some way to make it work. It will likely be the final straw that gets him formally disowned, but that part doesn't matter so much. It's probably inevitable anyway, assuming his father hasn't done it already whilst Dorian has been away._ _

__Now there's a lovely thought. Luckily he has all this kissing to distract him, along with promises of… of more things he never expected to have._ _

__"Please avoid killing him outright. I want him to live to see how happy I am."_ _

__"I'll only kill him if he's dangerous to you. But him being afraid I _might_ , it might mean he leaves you alone to be happy," Bull points out. "Hence, the threat. He'll see you aren't so easily controlled, and you have a family to protect you, where he didn't."_ _

__Bull grabs Dorian's hips, then, and with some effort lifts him up so he's a few inches above him. "Now forget him. You have us, now, and we want to show you how the other side party. Maybe you'll have a few games we don't know, maybe we'll have some to show you… and then you'll officially be part of this… ridiculous company. Krem _likes_ you." _ _

__"Krem is a man of taste," Dorian says. "Of _course_ he likes me." But this is just playful bluster, because he knows what Bull is really saying, and he knows earning the approval of this particular of his countrymen is significant. And important, considering he's Bull's fiercely loyal right-hand._ _

__"Come along, then," he agrees. "Good wine and good company are two of my favourite things, after all."_ _

__Bull lightly tosses Dorian to his feet, mostly to show off that he can, and sits up. Only to slap his ass. "We have all of that you could ever want. And if we don't have enough, _we go get more_." _ _

__The minute they open the door, Krem pushes back on Bull's chest. "Hold up, Chief…"_ _

__A fireball of purely alcoholic origin flares out, followed by a scream._ _

__"Okay, now you can come out. What kept you so long? I had to hide the best shit!"_ _

__Bull grabs Dorian's butt. "Just breaking in the new guy." And then he shoves said butt, pushing Dorian into the room. "Show them how it's done."_ _


	9. Chapter 9

Dorian has never been one to resist a good party. Plus, let's be realistic here, the difference between a good party and a _great_ one is him. And decent wine.

It helps that he feels really very, very relaxed already (on account of all the sex), and therefore happy to sit far too close to Bull's side, half-curled against him. He accepts a large cup of wine from Dalish, who appears to be one of those in charge of distribution (possibly on account of being – statistically-speaking – more sensible).

Not that anyone in the building could honestly be called 'sensible' right now.

"So what are we drinking to?" Dorian asks, eagerly, because a rousing toast is always a good starting point.

"Tits," Krem suggests, because he's had far too many drinks already.

"Of all kinds," Bull agrees, lifting his drink. "Maybe we all have a toast… but first… TITS!"

"Tits!" Dorian declares, because why not? And you never refuse a toast unless you're morally opposed to it. And because some of his favourite people love them. Tits, that is, not toasts. Although they mostly love those too.

Possibly he's still a little out of his head. Possibly this means he should have more wine.

"Explosions!" shouts Rocky.

"That don't result in loss of limbs!" adds Stitches. 

"Explosions that don't result in loss of _our_ limbs!" Rocky corrects. 

Bull smashes his cup to Dorian's, only splashing a little as he joins in with toasts two and three. 

"Knives!" Skinner declares, with a wicked look.

"And good fights!" Dalish adds, tilting her glass before downing most of it.

Grim gives a grunt, to which several people shout "agreed!" and drink again.

Dorian _still_ wants to know what in the Void is going on with the man. But, in the meantime, he drinks. Because toasts.

Krem drapes an arm over the side of Dorian which isn't occupied by the Iron Bull, swaying only marginally. "So, Squirrel… s'your toast gonna be? You can't have tits. They're mmmmine." 

"…What did you just call me?" Dorian asks, looking at the other man like he's not sure he heard right. Or like he's offering a chance to define the terms of this little exchange. Or possible like he's thinking of a witty retort. Sometimes even he doesn't know until it happens.

"Yer after the Chief's nuts… Squirrel," Krem slurs. "What else we s'posed to call you? Screamer?" 

"Krem…" Bull tugs Dorian under one arm, nearly sending the drinks flying.

"What? He _does_!"

"You will not refer to my beloved kadan as 'Squirrel', or 'Screamer'. We have two S-es as it is." 

"Fiiiiiiiiiine."

"Vinnie the Vint?" Rocky suggests, and gets an empty bottle thrown in his general direction. 

"I'm vetoing that one," Dorian retorts, but he's grinning. "The other two are technically true… OK, _entirely_ true… but lacking a certain… _je ne sais quois_." (Oh, he's already drunk if he's resorting to _Orlesian_.)

"Well," says Stitches, "…if you're the Iron Bull, then--"

"The Marble Cow--- HEY!"

Stitches is the one throwing things at Rocky, next. "What have we said about getting yourself injured and me needing to fix you?"

"You're not supposed to be the one bloody injuring me!"

"Wait… wait, wait, wait." Krem leans into Dorian's personal space, mostly because he can't work out distances. And squints. "BUCKLES."

"Hah!" Dorian declares, deeply amused. "I like it. And that can be my toast, too. To buckles!"

He manages not to capitalise it, and therefore toast to himself. Just.

Krem nearly toasts Dorian's nose, then sits back, smug, and nursing his wine. 

Bull shakes his head. Normally, naming people is his job, but this is one time it's probably best he doesn't, as any name _he_ gives will be… private. He pulls Dorian under his arm again, only to plant a messy kiss to his hair. "And to taking them off."

Rocky grumbles. "Still think Marble Cow was better."

"Guess that just leaves me…" Bull sits back, letting Dorian go so he can drink again. "And before any of you go all soft on me… I'm just gonna say… to you guys. And these four walls. And whichever four walls we find ourselves in."

The Qunari can't help but let his gaze fall steadily on Dorian, then, hoping (and pretty much knowing) that he and the others will know precisely what he's almost-saying. "To us." 

Dorian smiles, and it's one of those lovely moments where you're in a roomful of people, but you only see a single one. "To us," he says, meaning everyone, and meaning just them, all at once.

"If you two are going to keep being this sappy, we'll need a lot more wine," Skinner drolls, though not unkindly.

"Oh, we definitely are," Dorian replies.

"You're just jealous," Bull echoes, and then bends down to rub his nose against Dorian's, cooing deliberately. "When you get one, you'll understand."

Krem puts his feet up on the table, and leans back on two legs of the chair. "Yeah… sure. Guess he's alright for a posh git. Nice to see the shit don't just roll down the hill to the gutters. Equal crap for everyone, right?"

"If you're referring to the attitudes of our countrymen, you're absolutely right," Dorian agrees. "Doesn't matter who you are… if you don't fit the accepted 'norms'… out you go! Unless you're Maevaris, of course, but that's because she kept having her dissenters killed… Maker, you'd like Maevaris…"

Sometimes it helps to remember that there are at least one or two people back home who would miss him if he stayed away forever. Not many, sure, but some.

"Maybe Bull is starting a collection," he goes on. "If so, at least we're in good company."

"Prob'ly. Chief's a big, soft shit, aren't you?"

"I'd like to say I was bringing you all to the wisdom of the Qun," Bull replies, waving a glass airily. 

"Bull. I mean. Shit."

Bull does snort wine, even though it's not the first time (or the last) this joke has been made. "I'm just bringing you the wisdom of 'Fuck It', instead."

"FUCK IT!" Rocky insists, and lifts his wine up, clearly thinking it's toasts time again. 

"You think she wants to join us?" Bull asks, mostly to wind them up some more. "Krem wants a nice girlfriend. She got good tits? Or maybe she wants to finance us, and keep Krem… a Sugar Mama?" 

"Chief!"

"I'm _trying_ to be your _flank guy_."

"You're trying to whore me out for a stipend."

"So?"

"So… stop it!"

"She does like them big and strong… and oh-so-breakable," Dorian says, with an absolutely wicked look. "I think that's the real reason the Magisterium's scared of her… they're convinced she's got a special dungeon under that lovely manor of hers."

He hasn't, yet, been able to persuade her to show it to him, but he's convinced of the same. Maybe she'll at least swap notes the next time he's in town…

Krem shuffles uncomfortably, going an interesting shade of crimson. "Shut up."

"Aww. Poor Cremisius. Don't worry, Dorian will put in a good word for you…" Bull murmurs, wickedly. 

The response is muttered into wine, and then swallowed alongside said wine.

"Next time we get near one of those shops, remind me to get you a--"

"Isn't it time we had a song?" Stitches cuts in, apparently sensing the discomfort getting a little too much. "Buckles. You must know some filthy posh shit." 

"More than I'd care to admit," Dorian replies, with a wicked grin. "You'd be surprised how many things people have found over the years that rhyme with 'Magisterium'. I'd try to insist at this point that I don't hold with them, in some misguided attempt to paint my homeland in a better light, but we all know that isn't going to convince anyone here…"

He downs what's left of his current cup and looks thoroughly unashamed. "Of course, if you want to hear one, I'm going to need a top-up first…"

Bull snorts, and almost upends a bottle into his cup. "Kadan, the filthier the songs, the more respect for your people you're going to get."

"And don't think the ladies are any less vile. _Skinner_ has the worst tongue you've ever heard," Rocky says, sagely. "Which is why we love her. That and we want to retain all our digits."

"Manners are for the rich," Skinner says, flatly. She seems able to drink at the same rate as everyone else, yet doesn't appear remotely intoxicated, save for a slight distance to her eyes. Though that could be unfocused bloodlust.

"They most certainly are not," Dorian insists, taking a healthy swig of wine. "In my experience, the higher up the social ladder you go, the worse people get. S'why I used to drink in brothels all the time. Better class of people."

"Except it was the rich toffs who came to spend their damn money, wasn't it?" Krem tries to focus beyond his nose. "People just… suck… some people can do it with more money."

Bull swipes Krem's feet off the table, clucking. "Now, now. People suck. But people also swallow. They aren't all bad, on any level, it's just the ones with power and money get to have more influence."

"And not _always_ bad influence." Stitches shrugs. "Ferelden isn't doing all that bad. Not everywhere is Kirkwall. Or the Imperium. Or Par Vollen."

"Qunari don't have 'rich' people." Bull muses for a moment. "Powerful and influential, I'll give you that." 

"Why are we talking politics? I thought this was a sodding party!" Rocky jumps up onto his chair. "Somebody sing before I set fire to shit!"

"I did promise, didn't I?" Dorian says, before promptly launching into a song that's been doing the rounds in Tevinter for at least two ages, called 'The Littlest Magister'. (Needless to say, it is not about someone who isn't tall, and it _does_ involve a surprising number of ways to rhyme with 'Magisterium'. Although… possibly they aren't _that_ surprising.)

"…aaaaand that was the last that they saw of his staff!" he concludes, and strikes a pose in anticipation of thunderous applause.

Bull howls in amusement, and grabs Dorian by the waist, putting him on his shoulder before he's up, with a mage balanced precariously. 

"Encore! Encore!"

Bull bends a little as a bottle is passed for them both, and decides now is the best time to do a small lap of the dining room, trying to duck the joists so he doesn't smack his boyfriend into the ceiling as they go. "See, I told you they'd love you."

"My turn… have you heard the one about the Paragon of the Golden Clogs?" The dwarf climbs up onto the table, next, clearly feeling even shorter than usual.

Dorian holds on tight, gesticulating a little wildly but enjoying himself _far_ too much. "Regale us!" he urges. "No one does drinking songs like the Dwarves!"

"And don't forget to include the forbidden verses!" Dalish adds, having clearly heard this one before.

"I should never have told you that." Rocky starts to stomp one foot on the table-top. "Come on, give me a beat!"

Said beat is needed, because the song goes from laconic to furious in cycles that would make anyone dizzy, and there's far more wine on the table than there is in the people by the time Rocky starts howling about the things you can (but shouldn't) put in a golden clog. 

When he gets onto the flying nug, there's a resounding flurry of thrown shoes, which nearly dislodges him from the table, and then the roaring (and call-responding) finale has him on his knees, presenting his 'lady tit' to Grim, who doesn't seem to appreciate the thrusting going on in his direction. 

Whilst the dwarf is drinking what remains in his cup, Bull peers up at the man who, by default, is now higher than everyone else in the room. "You alright up there?" 

"Never better," Dorian answers, smiling down at him and then – because he can – toasting his cup to one of Bull's horns. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time… outside of an intimate setting, at least."

Dorian, no. Too much flirting all at once will get him carted back to bed, which whilst _very_ nice would remove him from the alcohol. _Pacing_. Pacing is how you get _both_.

Smirking, one hand rests above his knee, and slides up Dorian's inner thigh. "Well. Can't spend _all_ day on my dick. You'd get too sore." A slight pinch. "I'm willing to do some experiments to see precisely what the cut-off point is, though…"

In the background, a rather inaccurate rendition of which body part connects to which (Stitches) is playing out, with interjections of the less polite kind, as several people point and thrust.

And then – because Bull can – he turns to bite at the clothed leg near his mouth. "If you think this is fun, wait until we've been fighting all day and _then_ we drink. By the time I get you to bed, your balls will be the same colour as mine." 

"You and your _promises_ ," Dorian replies, happily. "We'll have to remind ourselves that we're supposed to be saving the world. Otherwise it will end and we won't even notice."

His non-wine-holding hand slips around to start stroking the back of one of Bull's horns, where it won't be _too_ obvious to anyone else. Especially because those kinds of motions would usually be applied to a different body part.

That gets a very, _very_ happy little purr, and nuzzling, and Bull evidently approves in the extreme. "We can't save the world all day, every day. There's plenty of time to do that, and then each other… plus, what's the point in being the boss if you don't get to delegate some of the grunt work down, then swing in for the big fight, eh?"

The table may or may not now be hosting a reenactment of a historical battle. Or an Orlesian dance. With glowing cheese knives. Possibly, it's both at once. 

Pushing into the touches, Bull makes sure the hand that's wrapped over his lover's thigh can tug lightly at the fabric, causing it to tighten and scratch in just the right places. Even if nowhere near enough. "I can't help it if you're the most _captivating_ thing I ever met. I just have to decide if I want to watch you fight, listen to you talk, or make you scream… _all_ of them have merits… maybe we could find a way to do all three at once? You think you could still fight while I'm buggering you senseless? Just… a little group of bandits? I think you could…"

"Of course I could," Dorian says, far too easily, which hides just how hard he's having to concentrate not to gasp at that. "I'm a mage. I can fight whilst standing still. Or lying still. Or any position you'd care to mention, really, so long as I can see the poor, unfortunate souls I'm slinging fireballs at in between moaning your name…"

This should not be sounding so much like something he wants to try. That would be _wrong_. The trouble is, Dorian Pavus and 'wrong' go together like… like glowing cheese knives and Orlesian ballroom dancing, apparently. Even if _that_ is a mental image which is going to stick.

"I could stand behind you… your hands free, mine on your hips… bounce you on my lap while you set fire to everyone around us… a flurry of destructive grace and fury… get you to tell me how great you're doing… describing every death as I suck on your throat and touch you like you're touching me right now…" Bull knows he's being far too bad.

Bull likes being far too bad. 

"All those straps and buckles… make you arch your back and hold onto them as I plough you like the Bull I am… mmmmn. Supposed to be nice… gentle… but I just want to throw you down on the table and fuck you again… _damn_ , but you're too much…"

Krem is apparently now pretending to be Dorian, a pencil between upper lip and nose as he 'rides' on Rocky's shoulders, which means he's barely an inch away from his normal height. 

Dorian would likely have something suitably amused to say about this, were it not for _that_ slew of mental images, which is now making him re-think the whole 'pacing' thing. And that's saying something, because there is a _lot_ of decent, free-flowing wine here.

"I'm glad to hear I'm so distracting," he manages, in a tone of voice which suggests what he _wants_ to say is 'carry me off and ravish me right now'. "Plus it means that wicked mind of yours will be thinking of all _sorts_ of things to do later…"

Mmmmm, yes. Things like 'me', and 'me again', and 'me, with some kind of fiendish roleplay element'. And… now he can't focus.

"Want to see how long you can sit _over_ my dick, while I ply you with alcohol and nice food?" Bull turns to nuzzle into his belly, next, plucking at clothes, growling reverberations into his solar plexus. "Right on my dick so they don't see how hard it is, but _you_ can feel it… every time you breathe, every time you move… knowing how it's all for you, and when you finally yield, when you finally submit and can't go any longer…"

Bull bites, teeth snapping into his silken shirt. "…knowing I'll take you so slowly you'll see through the Veil. My hands over every inch of you, worshipping you like the prophet of lust and longing and all those nice things… knowing the night won't end until there's not a drop or twitch of pleasure left in either of us… and knowing everyone here **knows** you're mine, and _wants_ you here, with us, where you belong… You won't even scream, by the time I'm done. Just come, and come, and come, and know you're loved more than anything, know you're home, know you're never going to need to dream alone again…"

Dorian shivers in delight. It is very, _very_ lovely to have someone say they want to do all these good and wicked things to you. It's even better when you know it's because they want _you_ as well. And not just for your radiant temple of a body.

"Amatus, darling, if you carry on like this, we'll be leaving the party early," he points out. Which is most certainly _not_ a 'stop carrying on like this'. Oh no. Just a… 'be prepared for the consequences'.

"There's always more parties… we like to celebrate. And we often have reasons to." All the same, Bull lifts Dorian, then spreads his thighs, and perches his mage across his lap. Which he follows with a nose-to-nose rub, and then a gnash of teeth over thin air right in front of his face. 

"Oh, come off it, Chief," Krem complains. "You do have a room."

"And I'm going to use it, after. But first…" He reaches for the salty drink-soaking nibbles, then cups a few and holds his hand up to Dorian's mouth. "Do you prefer to feed, or be drip-fed?" He knows, of course, but he also… is an ass.

"There is _just_ fine," Dorian answers, unfazed, and helps himself to a couple directly from Bull's hand, popping them into his mouth with frankly obscene delight. "You're so sweet to take such good care of me. Isn't he sweet, Cremisius? You should come and join us, and tell me all of Bull's deepest, darkest secrets. He's _much_ better at extracting them than he is at sharing his own."

He knows he's being outrageous. He does. But being outrageous is one of his finer qualities (of which he of course has so very many) and thus it would be _wrong_ to pretend otherwise. Plus… he wants to get to know Krem better. It's nice to have another Tevinter around, especially one who has plenty of genuine reasons to hate him but – seemingly – doesn't.

"Chief doesn't do 'deepest, darkest secrets'," Krem huffs, and then steals some snacks, too. But in a rather more practical and hungry way. 

"Absolutely I don't," Bull lies, convincingly.

"It's harder to get him to shut up, if I'm honest."

"Also true." Actually true. 

"Doesn't really count if he tells you. But I guess he's been too busy to talk properly…"

"…there were more important things my mouth was needed for…" Bull decides to demonstrate, by attaching himself, vampire-like, to the beating artery right in front of his mouth in Dorian's throat.

"He likes scented bubble bath shit," Krem starts, ticking things off on his fingers. "Knows more about flowers than any guy I ever met. Probably because they can kill you and also send messages or some shit. And he _will_ take the last little cake thingy from the plate…"

"Petit fours," Bull corrects, lifting up enough to say it. "…might be persuaded to use a knife and share, for you, kadan." 

"…he knows more languages than anyone I've ever met, likes boats, his favourite colour is pink, he thinks nugs are cuter than cats… pretends he's just a merc but really he'll take on sob story cases sometimes just because he's a--"

Bull growls.

"…any questions?"

This is all quite delightful, and Dorian listens intently – resisting the urge to interrupt, even, because he does so love the sharing – and helps himself to another salty nibble in the process.

" _Plenty_ ," he says, when Krem finally comes to the end. "Although… boats? I hate boats. We will have to agree to disagree on boats, amatus." A beat. But only one, whilst he turns his attention back to Krem. "What kind of scents? I like a heavier spice myself, but I can't help but feel Bull might be a sucker for lavender… oh, and maybe hibiscus… do they have those down south? I do hope so."

A pause. Some more wine. When Dorian pauses, it's because he's deliberately waiting for someone else to fill the space, and not because he's run out of things to say.

"Boats are good. Boats take you places." And away from places. Boats are freedom, in Bull's eye, and that's never a bad thing. So long as you know where you're going. "I'm not going to break up with you about them, though. I have no plans on retiring on one. They're just… useful." 

And a distant, hopeful memory. But he can live with compromise on that front. 

"It's some flowery shit," Krem shrugs. "Marzipan?"

"That's _cakes_ , Krem. And you don't have to be a girl to like floral scents! Frangipani. Lavender, yes. Violets. Fuschia… Sometimes orange blossom…"

"Well, maybe Qunari are more… open-minded about that." The Lieutenant shrugs, and takes another swig. 

"Nah. Just me."

"You _are_ one of a kind," Dorian agrees, warmly, and decides to toast one of Bull's horns again. Because he can. "A pity. If you were more typical of your countrymen, perhaps they and Tevinter could have had an alliance of fashion instead of a massive war."

"Oh, _please_. You all wear far too many layers to be practical. Some of your culture is fine. But I could get behind you in a nice harness…" Bull rubs his horn into Dorian's shoulder. " _Right_ behind…"

Dorian looks at Krem, detecting something in the other man's tone that he's seen hints of before. "I suppose Tevinter treated you even worse than it did me," he says, and this time the sympathy is entirely genuine. "Is that how you ended up working with this lunatic?"

Krem clucks his tongue. "Eh. Wasn't that great for my dad, either. Just… they didn't take too kindly to me serving in the army, even though I was just as good as everyone else. Decided to make an _example_ of me."

"They were going to kill him. Just for wanting to be a soldier." Bull growls a little, clearly annoyed.

"They thought it was a bit more than that."

"They were _wrong_." Bull will not budge on this. Clearly, it's a sore point for him, too. "Stupid Vint nonsense."

"…well. It wasn't as if anyone cared if _I_ got married, or not. Probably prefer I didn't. Enough of us poor sods around." Krem pushes his legs out in front of him. "Mum didn't really like it. Dad didn't mind. Was just… dunno. Army shit. Not like I was going to cause any problems. Unless their 'real' men felt I was showing them up."

Bull kicks him. "Real men don't get shown up. They learn how to _fight better_."

"Well… I guess if I'm still hanging around, I must have learned enough." Krem toasts Bull's other horn. "Beats selling yourself into slavery. And these guys are more fun anyway."

Dorian practically purrs as Bull rubs against him, though he doesn't say anything, because he _actually_ wants to let Krem speak. And, contrary to certain people's opinions, he does know when to be quiet and listen (it just isn't often).

And he understands. Different angle, yes, but he knows there are certain things Tevinter excels at (mage rights, magical ability, fashion) and certain things it does not. Too many of the so-called 'social norms' are laughable at best and abusive at worst.

Though this _is_ a party, so he resists the urge to go full-monologue.

"You're doing more good here," he agrees. "Our armies spend all their time fighting a war they can't win, and no one but a zealot is going to find that fulfilling. Plus, you people have better drinking songs."

Bull's half-way to saying that the Qunari could win if they want to, when he realises what he's doing, and clamps his jaws audibly shut. Some of it is a force of habit, and some of it is… wanting to defend the largest chunk of his adult life and vocation. 

Krem has the decency to notice the momentary lapse, and leans in to toast Dorian, next. "Better fighting for something good. Don't see the point bleeding for people who don't care about you."

"Also: I pay better." It's a little less smooth than Bull would have liked, but it's still there, on his tongue. 

"Gotta ask… Chief said it was some… Darkspawn Magister God Thing? How you think we kill that? Just… more swords? Thought you needed Wardens or something for that? Or is that just the bloody big dragons?"

"I _hope_ there's a dragon." Bull sounds dreamy at the concept, and from the stir in his pants… it's a good dream. 

Dorian hopes there's a dragon too, because _that_ reaction is full of promise, and… OK, what _is_ he thinking? There are better ways to get laid than nearly being clawed, eaten, or char-broiled to death by one of _those_ things!

"That's right," he says to Krem, because having a (mostly) sensible conversation prevents him from getting too distracted by his libido. "I don't know precisely what's going on, but I do know I have to stop it. The cult I'm after… they're calling themselves the Venatori, and they've started worshipping the leader of the Magisters Sidereal." He trusts Krem won't need this part explaining.

"You need a Warden if it's an Archdemon. I don't know _what_ this would qualify as, though. So if they _have_ actually managed to resurrect Corypheus… we might need a lot of Wardens. Or possibly just that really badass one who took down the most recent Archdemon at the Battle of Denerim."

Krem huffs. "Can't find 'em. Been looking. Chief… it'll be nice when you start doing your own job again. I prefer hitting things."

"But you're _good_ at that, too," Bull coos. "And it's my job to teach you to be good at it."

"Swords."

"Yes, Krem. Swords. But also the other stuff." Bull tosses a large selection of treats down his throat, then lifts up one particularly crunchy one to Dorian's lips, fully intending to stroke them as and when he takes it. 

"It'll be a good fight, no matter who we bring on, if we are fighting that." The young soldier nods, approvingly. "Plus. Be funny if a Qunari and two… unwanted Tevinter men save the Imperium."

"And everywhere else." Bull is under no illusions that this is wider-spread. "That's why we're going shopping for cool shit tomorrow. Gotta get my kadan the baddest-assest staff they have. Did I tell you he could kick your ass?"

"…you may have mentioned it a few times."

"And he can _glow_."

"…not sure how that… helps? But… yey?"

"Kadan, _show_ him your fancy shit!" 

"Oh, I can do far more than just glow…" Dorian says, and shifts position slightly so he can hold his arms out. He doesn't _need_ to hold his arms out, but it _looks_ dramatic, and magic without showmanship is simply missing the point.

The room seems to darken, and then the air fills with that strange, swirling not-quite-fire he first showed Bull on that night in the forest; dancing in the air as though the Veil itself was visible. A flick of the hand, and it moves faster, flaring brighter… and then all the lamps and candles in the room go out at once (fire is just _so_ easy to manipulate, it's not even funny).

And then… sparks that chase through the air, chasing and accelerating and then seeming to explode like fancy Orlesian fireworks, leaving the air bright with slowly-fading colour. Dorian watches it all for a moment, those same colours shining in his eyes, before he gives a single snap of his fingers, and all the lamps and candles burst back into life.

He sits back with a smile that some might call a tad smug. "Like that?" he asks, pleasantly.

"Funny way to do archery," Krem drolls, over a low chuckle.

Bull, meanwhile, is utterly captivated. And obviously enchanted in a whole other way. He curls an arm around Dorian's waist, and drags his teeth over the column of his neck. "Mmmmn. You should do that when we're in bed. Love watching the light flicker over your skin… I'll get extra candles if you want…"

He very much enjoys seeing how talented his kadan is, especially when it's things he's completely incapable of understanding, let alone doing. Maybe it should be scary, the unknown. But it isn't. And all he can think of is low, warm flames and the golden glow over bare skin. Fire. Dragon's breath fire. Curling the parchment ends and heating their skin in this too-cold land. Yep. Magic makes him amorous. (Most things Dorian does make him amorous.)

"Would you **warn us** next time, please?" Rocky grouses. "I nearly spilt my drink."

"You'll get used to me!" Dorian replies, brightly; made even more daring by just how much Bull has clearly enjoyed that… and all the possibilities it might lead to.

Soon. For now, he turns his attention to Krem once more. "Archery?" he repeats. "Dear boy, that wasn't archery. _This_ is archery…"

A sudden turn, a dramatic back-and-forth flick of the hand, and two bolts of light materialise in midair before shooting straight across the room and impaling themselves in the wall as if made of something far more solid.

Dorian gives a knowing grin. " _Bullseye_ ," he says.

The arm around Dorian's waist snicks tighter, grinding him most assuredly into Bull's lap. "I only have an eye for _you_ ," he purrs, and isn't quiet about it, either. 

"Dalish! The gauntlet has been thrown. Or the arrows!" Krem turns, ignoring the part where his Chief is basically sexually assaulting their newest member in front of everyone. 

Bull does not care at all, and is now adamantly trying to mark Dorian's throat. He suckles fiercely, not giving up even when it's clearly being felt. He's determined to brand this one, not as a slave, or as property, but owned in a wholly different way. 

Dorian doesn't seem to mind either, judging by the way he's arching back at the attention, closing his eyes and making a low murmur of pleasure. The way he sees it, the sooner the Chargers get used to what he and Bull are like together, the easier this will be for everyone.

Although if Bull goes on like this _too_ long, they will have to withdraw if they want to avoid… over-sharing. Or, over-sharing by their current standards, at least.

On the other side of the room, Dalish gives a wide gesture with her drink-arm. "Not a mage!" she declares, still convincing no-one.

"I said _arrows_!" Krem calls back, rolling his eyes. 

Bull uses two, large fingers to turn Dorian to face him, lifting spit-wet lips from his throat to pluck them over the other man's. And then licks, firmly, until he can start to fuck Dorian's mouth lingually. Heady, slow, sensuous kisses that seem to forget anyone else exists. If they do exist, they don't matter enough to stop.

"Can someone just turn out the lights properly?" Stitches slurs.

"I don't want to _hear_ it without _seeing_ it."

"Rocky!"

"What? Maybe your imagination is good enough, but hearing weird noises in the dark…"

Bull slides his fingers up under the mage's craw, resting in the soft spot under the front of his chin. "Kadan… I think they're jealous." 

"Mmmmm," Dorian purrs. "Well… you _could_ choose this moment to carry me off somewhere more private to have your way with me… or we could always continue being _thoroughly_ inappropriate in public…"

Honestly, he's happy with either. He likes the idea of more sex now. He also likes the idea of being outrageous. They're both appealing. And… not mutually exclusive.

"I need more wine," Skinner groans. "The images won't leave my mind…"

Unfortunately, Dorian overhears this, tips his head back with a smirk, and snaps his fingers. And all the lamps and candles go out again.

"DAMNIT!" Stitches yells.

Then someone bangs into something wooden sounding. And more cursing.

Bull's laughter is buried into Dorian's cheek, just next to his ear, as he takes the opportunity to slide his hand over the front of his trousers, curling his fingers and palm over the swelling. And squeezing. 

Right by his ear, low enough that no one else will hear: "How fast can you come? Before they get the lights back on?" Not that he's entirely certain he's that deviant… well. He is. But he also cares about the people in this room, and so perhaps it's better just to tease than do. 

"Pretty fast, if you try," Dorian murmurs back. "Though I do recall some promises about taking your time and I _really_ think I'd enjoy that even more…"

The touching is nice, though. Very nice. And he shouldn't encourage it by leaning in to nip lightly along Bull's jaw, oh no. That would be _bad_.

"Dalish, do something!" Skinner shouts.

"I am not doing archery in the dark!" comes the unimpressed reply.

Bull somehow manages to slide his chair back, toss Dorian to fold over his shoulder, and stand without banging into anything. "I am taking this human back to our bed, now, and I don't want anyone interrupting us until lunchtime tomorrow, unless there is a dragon literally setting fire to the place."

Dorian is not quite drunk enough to yell 'hooray!' but he _is_ drunk enough – or just _him_ enough – to shout, "try not to miss us too much!" as they go.

He's not _actually_ an ass, though, so when Bull reaches the door, he gives another snap of his fingers, and restores the lamps for the others. Not that they couldn't have done it themselves, eventually, but… he's feeling generous.

And then he and Bull are alone.


	10. Chapter 10

"Well, what _shall_ we do now?" Dorian says, leadingly.

"I was thinking a manicure, followed by a wine tasting, then discussion of Orlesian theatre…" Which, actually, he might enjoy some days. But not right now. Bull walks him to the bed, but he doesn't fling him down like he might usually do.

Instead, he supports his neck, lower back, and drops to one knee to gently lower him down. "Or… I could make love to you, until your legs turn to jelly and you forget you ever didn't love me…?"

" _That_ ," Dorian says at once, and there's suddenly a great deal of need in his voice. "You should do that. _Please_."

It's a different kind of need, too; not the oh-fuck-yes-fuck-harder need of before, but something deeper. Something that speaks to his longing to be _wanted_ simply for him, not some external or superficial factor. Something he's only just discovering he can have.

Bull holds out a hand, waiting for Dorian to take it, before turning it over to nuzzle and kiss the palm. He inhales over his wrist, and bites softly at the fleshy mound of his thumb, gazing up as he does so. He wants… he wants so much. Of course he wants the eventual happy ending part… but he wants all the other bits, first. The bits he apparently had the space for, just not the place to put them.

"You don't need to try so hard to impress me, you know. You already did." He runs his fingertips over the pulse-point of his wrist, and then lowers the hand so he can slip his up under the hem of Dorian's shirt, slowly pushing up and then over his head. "I know you do it because you're hoping it will work. But you don't need to do it with me. I already noticed you. I see more than you even know." 

That makes Dorian shiver – although definitely not in a bad way – and he can't look away from Bull's face. "I'm not trying to impress you," he insists, but he knows on some levels he is. On some levels he's trying to impress the Chargers. On some levels he's just fighting that age-old fight of 'notice me, notice me' without yet being used to the idea that someone actually has. "I just like to… prove my worth."

Plus there's the part where he was brought here helpless and unconscious and very nearly dead, and instinct is still trying to make him counter that by making it clear it was a one-off. Which hopefully it _was_ , but that's not quite the point.

"You don't need to," Bull reminds him. "Or, should I say, here it doesn't matter what you bring to the fight. A great-axe, a sword, a staff… or a pitch-fork. What matters is that you _came_ to the fight. What matters is that you _stay_ , and that you protect what you care about." 

Yes, he's talking about his team, right now. Because he knows it must be difficult to suddenly find yourself smack bang in a fiercely loyal squad. Dorian's gone from having no one, to having a whole company of people. A company he only signed up to by proxy, who he doesn't know nearly enough to know he'd have chosen to be here under any other circumstances. "You're fighting. For a reason. And my guys will fight alongside you. Even if you weren't the most impressive mage they'd ever seen… they'd fight for _you_."

Bull pushes fingers through hair sent awry by his shirt, tidying the strands back into place with a fond smile. "Relax, kadan. You're **worth** it. You brought me back home. You made it _be_ home again. In a way I don't think I ever had… I love who you _are_ , not what you try to make others think you are." He arches up, asking for a kiss, still kneeling in place. 

Dorian leans in to kiss him, slow and careful; taking his time with it. His mind still isn't quite processing the reality of all this, of what it means to be wanted, to be worth it. To have all those crazy, wonderful people downstairs who agree, and _they_ don't even have the fabulous sex to motivate them.

"How do you see so much?" he asks, when the kiss finally breaks. Because… Bull _does_ , and Dorian doesn't quite get it. Observation and social cues, sure, he gets those, but it's like Bull is _in_ his head, and that's weird. Not bad-weird, no, but… weird.

"Maybe losing this," Bull taps his eye-patch, "…helped me value the other, more?" He's trying to make light of it, as he crouches down and diligently removes Dorian's boots and socks, careful not to tickle or annoy. He holds one foot just above the heel, and kisses his ankle, then moves to the other. 

But it isn't the answer, and Dorian… deserves the truth, if no one else does. "Innate skill, honed by extensive training, with my very survival dependent upon it? They bred me… probably to be _Sataari_ … but we don't all turn out like they intend, do we?" His smile is wry. "I was trouble from the start. Finding the ways around things, understanding rules, people… using it to my advantage. It's who I am, kadan. I see people…" his eye tightens. "…and I use them."

Bull puts his hand over Dorian's belly, partially to ask permission to remove the remaining clothes, and partially… just to connect. "I don't want to use you. Or… I do. But only in ways that make you feel _good_. Just as you don't need to make deals with demons, neither do I. And you… you are so… _vibrant_. You paint your false self so loudly, but with such… lack of conviction… you **beg** for people to open the box… you _call_ to me, kadan. And I hear you as clearly as my own heart beating."

"A short time ago, I would have disagreed with you," Dorian admits. "I'd say I had no false self. Just… _me_. What you saw was what you got. But… I'm starting to realise there's more under the surface than even I knew. Maybe I was just waiting for the right man to help me get to it."

He gives a nod at the hand on his belly, wanting Bull to continue. This slow, gentle attention is good, in a very different way from the other thing, but no less so. And it's… nice… to be worth the time.

"I think… I think I was more scared of being _known_ than I realised. Possibly… because I'd have to know myself too. And sometimes living with me is hard."

The words are said lightly, but there's truth in them; truth he's slowly learning to understand. He's not sure what Bull has done to his head, but it's impossible to deny that something's changed, and he's still working out the extent of what it means.

"It's also a hazard of my job. You either get so far into others' heads that you forget the way back to your own, or you look inside and…" Spiral. Spiral, over and over. It's exhausting at times, terrifying at others. Bull unfastens Dorian's trousers, and eases the fabric over his hips, urging him to lift up and let him finish.

Which leaves him bare. And aroused. And more than just naked. 

Bull rises slowly, hands tracing light patterns just above Dorian's knees, drinking in the sight of him. He lets a low, appreciative note rumble out, and then stands up to strip himself. He has no qualms about showing off his athleticism as he does so, because he's honed his body just as much as his mind. He likes how he looks (mostly, save the odd scar which is bitter-sweet, or the occasional twinge of never-fully-healed). 

"Very few people truly know themselves, let alone allow anyone else to. Everyone lies to themselves, in varying degrees. But I don't think you're _hard_ to live with – or will be – I think you're _thrilling_." 

The Qunari tosses the last vestige of clothing aside, wearing only the brace on his ankle (which, to be honest, he forgets is there) and the patch over his eye. He runs a hand from Dorian's calf, up to lift and bend his knee, so he can urge it around his waist as he settles between his thighs and above him. Propped on an elbow, and brushing at his hair. "Maybe you wanted others to tell you that you were perfect, or brilliant. Maybe that's what you thought you needed. But I know what you really need…" He dips his head, a light coronet of kisses from one temple to the other. 

Dorian wraps his arms up around the other man, just holding him close. His hands trace gentle patterns over shoulders, trying to give back without interrupting whatever Bull is planning. Wanting it, as much as he wants the rougher side of things. Perhaps even more.

"And what do I really need?" he asks, with a smile, wanting to know what the other man will say, and… wanting the answer, too. To see if it's close to what he thinks.

But he loves this. Loves having the other man on top of him, taking his time. Loves how strong he is, how sure; how he blends undeniable physicality with a mind unlike any Dorian has ever known. A mind that challenges him, and excites him, and makes him just as excited by the prospect of staying up all night debating politics as he is by the prospect of a large amount of amazing sex. Well… almost as excited. It's hard to top the sex, after all.

It's barely any effort at all for Bull to settle where he needs to be, trapping their cocks between their bellies, so when he rocks and pushes they both feel it. Bull _adores_ knowing the effect he has on his lovers, and it's even more pronounced, now. He pushes his thumb into the bone at Dorian's hip, rubbing little circles, easing wider into the muscles that bunch into his buttocks. 

"The _truth_. You need someone to see the places you aren't picture-perfect…" Bull moves, tracing his tongue around the tip of his ear. "The places you're angry, or afraid, or jealous. The frustrations. The things you're ashamed of…" He licks, right behind the lobe, where he tastes so strongly. "You need someone to see it _all_ , and love you **because** of them, not 'in spite' of them." His teeth sink into the fleshy part, tugging with a growl. " _I_ fucking _love_ them. They make you **real**. You pull me in with your contradictions. You call to me with your hopes. You ensnare me with your dreams, kadan. You're like me."

And then he grabs his hip, and grinds, hard. "And it means if I can love you, I can be loved, too." And the opposite of course, which he knows Dorian will very easily infer. "Don't hold back. Not anything. And I won't, either." 

And for Bull, being 'known' is perhaps even more terrifying than for others. It's life-or-death. But for Dorian, he wouldn't want to hold anything back that the man wanted to see… he needs it to be real. He needs to know he can be _him_ , and that Dorian won't turn away in disgust. 

The words hit Dorian hard – not in a bad way, oh no, but certainly impactful – and he feels unnaturally hesitant when he speaks, because he can feel the importance of what's being said resonating in every breath. "I do love you, you know," he says. "I don't understand how it happened. I just know that it did. I know that when you touch me… you make me feel things I've never felt before; and, believe me, that's not from lack of trying. And you… you're a contradiction too, you know. Of course you know. But… you are. You have the whole strong, scary Qunari warrior thing down to a fine art – one that's _ridiculously_ hot, by the way – and yet your mind is like none I've ever known."

He puts his hands on Bull's face, just looking at him for a moment. Studying him, his expression, the thought and emotion behind it, and wondering how he lived so long without this man in his life.

"And… I've said I trust you, which I do, but you know it works both ways? You can trust me too. I fell in love with _you_ ; not the person you pretend to be to your superiors, or even the one you are among your team. I think… I think that's what made this work so well, so fast. I liked that you could see into me, but you also let _me_ see into _you_."

Bull can control every expression he lets play over his face, if he wants to. Mimic and mock. Even tiny, micro-expression twitches and tells. No one plays cards with him too many times, unless he's letting them win.

He has to fight not to control them right now, not to hide that it's fucking terrifying, being so honest. So raw, and vulnerable. He let Dorian see what others had only glimpsed, or tortured out of him, and…

Bull takes the hand on his face, and pushes it. Pushes it under the band that holds the patch in place, and uses him to remove it. It could mean nothing, but it doesn't. "I do trust you," he says. "I've told no one what I told you. Not all of it. Bits and pieces, things I needed… but I've told no one who I _am_. And… I want you to know. I want you to _know_." 

He curls fingers around the muscle between shoulder and neck, squeezes just the right side of painful, and breathes… so very deeply. "I am not a nice man. But I could be." A smile, and he uses his horn to rub against the other shoulder. "I think I said something about making sweet love to you, though. Perhaps you should hold me to it?" 

"Perhaps I should," Dorian agrees, wholeheartedly. "I'd like that. Slow… and firm… making every moment last as long as possible… oh yes. Holding you close, knowing I have you… letting you have _me_."

A gentle flick of the hand, and the air above them fills with softly-glowing points of coloured light, hovering like ethereal fireflies in the night; strong enough not to fade for a while without needing any continual effort to maintain them. Dorian smiles. "You… seemed to like it before," he says, sounding almost – almost – shy. Or, at least shy by his standards. "I thought you might like some slower ones, just for you."

Bull's lips curve. He does like them, and he doesn't mind showing how touched he is. His hands cup and lift Dorian's face, pulling him in for another kiss. It's deep, slow and firm as requested, and he's sure his heart isn't working right as he starts to rut with lazy, but determined intent. The only problem with that is he can't see the lights when he's kissing him, so he has to stop just to admire them again. 

"I need you. I **need** you. Will you roll over for me, kadan? I want to open you slowly, and kiss your neck, and hold you in my arms while I take you as long, and slow, and deep as I can… I _need_ you." 

The thought of parting even to move, to fetch oil, to re-arrange… it's maddening. But the end result will be oh-so sweet. He wants Dorian to stretch out and relax. To yield to pleasure, and only pleasure. He needs to know for himself that he can do it, as much as anything else.

"Of course," Dorian replies, smiling again, because he likes that thought, and he likes knowing how much Bull does too. He's of a similar mind when it comes to the moving part, though, because the contact is too lovely right now to want it to end even for a second, and with purpose.

So his movements are slow and lingering when he acquiesces; rolling over onto his stomach and getting comfortable again… and oh, there's something about this too… a kind of _surrender_ all of its own, but not in a way that invites any kind of force. Well, OK, it could, but that's not the point right now.

Bull grabs the lube as fast as he can, then lifts a leg to sit astride Dorian's. He smiles affectionately as he pours some into his hands and presses his palms together to warm the substance. This is about sensuality, not about speed, and he knows it will feel much more pleasant.

"I want you to talk to me," Bull says, as he slides a flat palm between his buttocks. Not doing anything like open him to begin, but massaging the area, making it slick and hot. Pressure up against the patch of skin he loves to tease, fingers lightly flicking at his balls to encourage more blood flow. "Anything. Everything. I love your voice, and I love the way you think."

Both hands grip his buttocks, and he squeezes, pulls them apart, then pushes back together. He wants that easy relaxation, alongside the tension of lustful hunger. His thumbs move to the dimples of Dorian's back, and then he glides firmly over either side of his spine, only stopping when he hits shoulderblades. "…shouldn't be a difficult request. You _do_ love to talk." 

"Mmmmmm," Dorian purrs, because the touching really is _very_ lovely; giving a happy little shiver under Bull's hands. "That is true. Certain topics are… _oh_ … not best-suited for such an intimate setting, but I'm sure I can make it work…"

A pause, as he arches into another touch, deliberately taking his time too. "Especially because I already know how much you like it when I talk _dirty_. When I tell you all the wicked and lovely things I've imagined all these years, and how I can't wait for you to do them to me, or _with_ me. How so many of them are things I've never actually tried, so you'll get to be the _only_ person I do them with."

That's important too. He's had a varied and lively sex life up to now – which he's not in any way ashamed of – but never with anyone as creative as Bull. Certainly never with anyone he could trust enough to indulge the things he thinks about.

"Tell me, kadan. Tell me all the things you want me to know… or want to watch me pull from you…" Bull shuffles higher, settling his cock between Dorian's buttocks to rub lightly as his fingers splay over his shoulders.

His hands are large, so he easily encompasses most of the surface, and the heels of his palms push up as his fingers squeeze, finding the pressure points and plying them, using the motion of that to give himself light friction to frot and urge his own arousal higher. 

"I love how free you are… your kind forget the pleasures you can have, too often… but your culture _does_ have some redeeming features…" Things like the emotional connection, apparently, and pair-bonding. Bull has to say, those bits he will take and not let go of. 

"Use that educated, smart tongue and tell me the _filthiest_ things you've ever dreamed of… if we can do them, I want to. And I…" He noses at the nape of his neck. "I won't do them with anyone else, either." He knows Dorian knows, but saying so is important. His fingers slip around his neck from behind, and he slides harder against him for a moment, wanting to listen. 

"Some of them are roleplays," Dorian starts off, easily. "Scenarios. Classic _fantasies_ that wouldn't actually happen, but which are fun to imagine. Or, _most_ of them wouldn't happen. How was I supposed to know a big, angry warrior who was secretly hiding a keen mind and a decent heart would _actually_ abduct me off the road one day? And that's one we should maybe play about with one day soon because you were rather more considerate in real life… which is good, of course, I know the difference between fantasy and reality, but we could definitely have some fun with it…"

He's been planning to move onto discussing another, but at this point his mind decides to run off with the current one because it's so good. "…I mean, imagine it… you and I, alone in some remote forest where no one will _ever_ happen by to help… taking liberties with your captive whether I want you to or not… _making_ me want it… over and over and _over_ until I can't even remember how I got there, and then when I think you're finally done, throwing me over your shoulder to keep for later…"

Dorian sounds borderline-dreamy at this point. And still thoroughly unashamed.

Bull's breath hitches in delighted appreciation, and he allows his teeth to drag over Dorian's shoulder. "Truss you up like a bird for roasting, bent over with your holes ready to use… show you how your body doesn't care if your mind says 'no', at first. The angry, hungry, selfish monster… only in it for the load he needs to deliver…"

The gentle rolling, the rubbing, the hands that move to capture Dorian's and curl over them, holding them down at either side of his head are at complete odds to the words. Soft and sweet, and utterly vile. 

"Or you'd tell yourself it was animal lust alone, until you realised you _craved_ it, that I filled more than your ass when I reamed you open… would it hurt more to have your own mind tell you what a desperate, twisted slut you were, or hear the monster know you better than you knew your own mind? As he showed you how you couldn't _help_ but want it… even after you were spent… a cock in your mouth until your eyes water and your throat burns… subduing you to the point you would sit there and hold it warm for me in your mouth while I read. Staring up at me, wishing I was paying you attention, wondering if you misbehaved, if you'd get a punishment you enjoyed, or hated. And if there was even such a thing as a punishment you _didn't_ want…" 

He pauses, his mouth turning to kisses all over his nape as he angles to grind harder against him, never entering, just teasing them both. 

" _Oh_ ," Dorian breathes in delight, his mind going briefly hazy at the words. "Yes… that… all of that… but I'd know deep down that you wanted me just as badly as I wanted you. That you wanted me to submit, wanted me to surrender… wanted me to be _all yours_."

Many of his old fantasies were not as kind as that. Or anything close. But finding Bull, finding someone who _does_ want him… it's changing the hue of them. A little.

He pushes back slightly, just to feel the other man holding him down. Holding him _here_ , where he's meant to be. Where he wants to be. Where he feels… safer than he's ever felt in his life. _Freer_. And that might sound like a contradiction, for a man pinned down by a much stronger man, but it isn't.

"You **are** all mine. No one else gets to touch you, now. Your body, your mind, your heart… I will carve my name all over them." It's said with a snarl, though Bull's still just holding Dorian with sheer weight and bulk, and the strength in his upper arms. 

Bull tilts his hips, bracing on the pull back, only to begin the rolls that nudge him lower, teasing them both with the not-quite-entering. 

"Do you know what I see, when you submit? Do you know why I need it? Shall I tell you?" 

Dorian gasps again, a little more needy this time, because that slow rutting is starting to drive him wonderfully insane. "Yes," he says, and the need is there in his voice, clear and obvious. "Yes. Please. Tell me."

Because… he doesn't quite know. Sort of, yes, but not entirely. Not to the point of being confident that he's right, and he much prefers to be confident that he's right.

"You… beautiful, brave, intelligent… _powerful_. Powerful in a way I can never understand, or command… death courses through you, as much as life… you could bring the skies down on my head… you should _terrify_ me…" Bull knows he's saying far, far too much.

But.

Trust.

It has to go both ways, or it isn't trust. And he needs to be known, as much as he needs to know. 

"You, this storm-kissed force of nature, like the squall that wrecks your boat… everything I should loathe… but you _fascinate_ me… and when you yield? I control the most dangerous thing the world knows… and all I want to do is keep you safe. Pull the thorns from your hands. Wash out the pain you're in. Make a safe haven for you… you give me your power, and I give you mine. You yield… and I am _worthy_."

He uses the word deliberately. Echoes the words before. Reminds him that what they want is the same, and they can get that, together. 

Bull wraps an arm under Dorian's shoulders, supporting his neck, cuddling him closer as he ruts. He needs him, but he said slow, and… and he's going to make it slow. 

And that… _that_ is why Dorian can surrender in reality, isn't it? Why he can let the line between fantasy and reality blur when it's with Bull, when he never really considered it with anyone else. Why he can open up who he truly is, all the way down, rather than just distracting people with enough of the surface detail so they don't look too hard.

Bull… respects _him_. Respects, fears, _loves_ what he can do, without ever trying to turn it to his own advantage. And he doesn't let any of it stop him being who _he_ is. So many non-mages turn into devoted drips or scheming fanboys around a magical lover, but Bull… Bull is just _him_. And that's refreshing. Honest. _Real_.

"Never doubt that," Dorian says, softly. Very, very honest. "I may have been with many men, but you're the _only_ one I've ever surrendered to."

"You're the only one who I'd ever let know _why_." Bull has controlled people. Easy, when you're strong. People tend to more quickly respect it, or more superficially. They challenge you less, even if they don't understand that the real power isn't in the strength, and it isn't even in the smarts. He's manipulated, bent, played, used. Rarely maliciously, but never with anything like affection. 

Use, if not abuse. And not because of some deep, bone-marrow level need. Not because he craved it, and not because it felt so right to do it. He does it for Dorian, as much as for himself. Maybe even more.

"You're the only one I'd let do the same, to me." Bull would allow his body to be used – had, plenty – but even when they'd ripped his mind to claw him back to the Qun… there'd always been some tiny scrap left, a sliver of resistance, which now needle-points to Dorian's North. And won't waver.

One knee plants, and he pushes up, and in. Slides the first few inches into him, and holds him snugly as he lets Dorian relax and accommodate him inside. "You already _do_ control me, kadan. You know that, don't you?" 

"Only in _lovely_ ways," Dorian murmurs, as that first, glorious penetration fills him up with heat, with need, and makes his heart sing with delight. "I'd never do anything to hurt you."

Some part of him needs to say it. He's well-aware that, whilst Bull may easily have the edge on a physical level, Dorian could tip it any way he wants on a magical one. Even in a situation where a non-mage would be utterly helpless, he can still rebalance the scales in his own favour most of the time. But with Bull… he doesn't. And he won't.

He doesn't need to. He's safe. He trusts the other man. And, for once in his life… he has nothing to prove.

"And my ways aren't _lovely_ , too?" Bull's amused, playful, breathing in hair and settling down to curve over his back, blanketing him in silvery heat. He's not fully inside, but it's tight and pulsing around the tip of his cock, and it feels far, far too good. 

The other hand comes around, gliding up his throat, under his jaw, a threat and a promise of how he could cut off his breathing or snap his neck with a moment's thought. But he wouldn't. He won't. He holds, instead, and lets his weight slowly fall forwards, using it to slide ever deeper into him. "You could hurt me. But it wouldn't be _cruel_." The distinction is important, when you both like pain. "Show me those sparks, kadan. Make me need to go faster. Show me how glorious it is to fuck you slow and sweet." 

His own hands currently free, Dorian lifts both up and behind, to rest at the base of Bull's horns. Knowing he likes to be touched there, and knowing he'll like this even more. A second's concentration is all it takes, and suddenly he's sending slow, careful sparks down the other man's back. It's not enough to hurt, although it could be. Right now, it's just… motivational. And _good_ , if you happen to like interesting sensations.

"It's glorious to fuck me any way you choose," he says, with an audible smile; allowing himself a moment of pride but with no real weight behind it. "Slow and sweet… hard and fast… rough and merciless… firm and meticulous… oh yes, they all have their place…"

He manages to make pretty much every single one of those words sound _filthy_. It's a gift.

The touches exploding over his hide make Bull low, and on instinct he's tilted his hips and pushed so far inside that he can feel Dorian's body resisting, struggling to yield to any more. He knows he's stretching him to fit, knows he's hollowing him out to fill him right back up again. Bull loves knowing how he's pushing Dorian's limits, because who wouldn't? He keeps there, buried deep, and bounces just lightly in place. 

"Oh _yes_ , kadan. Oh **yes** it is…" 

He pushes harder on his throat, forcing his body to arch and bow, or else to choke, and this position doesn't lend itself to fierce, or fast. It's close, and deep, and his heart is thudding against Dorian's spine. 

"When your breathing cuts… when your eyes haze… the way your lips twitch and your toes curl… mmmnnnnffff… want to tie you to a chair and use only my hand so I can watch your face through every last moment… want to sit with you on my dick and neither of us moving… see how long we can last, just kissing… want to slam you raw and then eat you clean… finger you when I've come, until I can fuck you again… touch you until you scream that it's too much, then touch you some more… "

Bull drags his fingers over Dorian's lips. "Going to do all of them. Maybe all tonight. Maybe more than once. How many times can you handle, kadan, before your prick pops off?" 

"Let's find out, shall we?" Dorian manages, through the challenging position and the hand on his throat, and right now he can't think of _anything_ he wants more. "Take me. Use me. _Love me_. Make me hoarse from screaming, whether it's for mercy or for you to never stop. And know that I _adore_ you for it."

Who wouldn't? Who wouldn't adore having someone who fits with them _this_ perfectly? Monsters and lunatics, that's who. And they are neither.

He _is_ someone who can up the intensity of the sparks he's sending down his lover's back, though. Not too much, but enough. Partly because he can, but mostly to see what Bull will do in response.

Bull's first response is to pull Dorian even further back, like a bow string almost to snapping, and then he lifts a foot and plants it. Moves his hands so each come up under Dorian's armpits, and clamp down on his shoulders. With him braced, lifted up off the bed, he uses the power in his thighs to rut upwards, letting gravity pull the mage back down after each thrust. 

"Look at your prick. Look how happy it is to see me. Sweet, pink little thing… maybe I should tie you on your back after this and take it for a ride, while my load seeps from your ass and makes the sheets sticky below you… you like being used, after all. Why shouldn't I use you like my own dildo? Mmm, better than my own fingers…"

His pace starts to ramp up, even punishing as it is to do it this way. His buttocks ache, his knee locks, but he has to keep going. "Then I'll fuck you again. Push your knees to your ears. Hit your prostate until you come again, dry and howling. You're a mage. You can take it. Take it until you're so full you think you'll burst if I come inside you again. Take it until you're dizzy and lost… take it until you forget anything bad ever happened to you, or could happen again…" 

"You _should_ ," Dorian says, in what in his mind is a growl, but in reality sounds more like a very eager plea. "All of that. You should do _all_ of that and more, because I _can_ take it. I'll show you what it is to have a lover who can take _all of you_."

There are several meanings to this statement. They are all correct.

His whole body is shaking now, from the fucking, from the position, from the glorious mental images they're drawing up between them, and he's craving _more_. The feeling is so strong it threatens to overwhelm him, except that it's kept constantly at bay by the waves of pleasure already chasing through him, satisfying just enough of the craving to keep going, and going…

What will be left of his mind at the end is questionable. But it will come back on its own, given time.

"Don't you come until I'm done with you." This is a growl. Low, threatening, but in the kind of threat that's a promise of so, so much to come. Bull moves onto both knees, using the arms around his lover's torso to ram him down, over and over, using his strength to satisfy them both. Just as Dorian can show off, so can he… and he has no shame in how much he enjoys his own body, and what it can do.

He said slow, but he also said repeated, and Bull is eager to see what Dorian feels like inside of him. So he goes faster, harder, and barks a command right by his ear, knowing Dorian will obey, knowing he's right in the place he needs him to be on the edge of his thoughts, capable but under his control. "Make. Me. Come." 

Dorian certainly doesn't need telling twice. He's losing his mind under the sheer onslaught, but there's more than enough of it left to up the intensity of the sparks, to _focus_ them into precisely what he needs… something to push Bull rapidly over the edge, even if he tries to resist it.

It's an old, dirty trick. But he knows it's what Bull wants right now, so he doesn't hold back. And besides, it will still feel _just_ as good.

"Your wish is my command, amatus," he says, with another audible smile.

The shock of it is eye-opening, as sensations with no real, physical cause rip through him, making Bull's balls pull up, his cock feeling like he has lost all self-control. Maybe he has, but has he, if he asked for it? 

Any which way, he's broken Dorian over his chest, gasping against his face as he feels the dam give, and his release thud out, and out, and out. His hips jerk until there's nothing left to give, but he hasn't forgotten Dorian, either. 

Bull fingers his own hole with one hand, still keeping Dorian impaled, working himself roughly open. He's still fuzzy from the climax, still too sensitive, but he wants Dorian to have just as much fun. "Don't come. Not until I give you permission." His arm works faster, until it's nearly too much, and then he pulls down and out of him, and flips the mage onto his back. 

His own cock is twitching, sticky, and very slowly sinking, but Bull has Plans. 

Oh, but that is so, _so_ good to experience, even second-hand, and Dorian can't help a rough gasp when he feels the other man come like that. He's starting to get a little hazy with need himself, but not yet to the point that it becomes all-consuming. Just _really_ good.

" _Anything_ ," he breathes in response, and… he means it, doesn't he? _Anything_ is a dangerous word – or a lie – unless you trust the other person completely. But… he does. He **does**. And that is liberating.

He drops back where he's thrown, staring up at Bull with pleasure-shot eyes, and keeping his hands either side of his head. Which is _partly_ a gesture of surrender, oh yes, but it's also so he can use them again if he needs to. He can do all sorts of things with them, after all…

"Damn, but you're sexy as hell," Bull purrs, dropping down to steal another kiss first, cocking his leg over and settling his weight low on his abdomen. He drags his balls over his belly for a moment or two, then steadies one hand on Dorian's hip, and the other grabs hold of his dick.

"Gonna enjoy this." Bull does. It's all sensation, stimulation. It's all pleasurable input. No shame whatsoever in seeking more out, and he's never felt what went where truly answered any steadfast questions about an interaction. Except: 'what went where?'

With careful ease, Bull lowers himself down by degrees. He clenches as much as he dares, feeling the shaft bore into him. Spread him. Fill him. It's a nice cock, but it's nicer because of whose it is. He grinds down harder, until he's sure he's got everything, and then drops into yet another kiss. His weight means Dorian can't hope to do much under him. Nothing but be enveloped, and pinned down by his bulk. 

"Feels good to have you inside of me, kadan. Does it feel good for you?" 

"Fucking _incredible_ ," Dorian manages, the world going hazier. He's balls-deep in the other man now, but pinned down at the same time, and that's a very interesting juxtaposition. And _kaffas_ , but he's already close, and holding out is going to be murder.

But that won't stop him trying with everything he's got. Even if it drives him right out of his beautiful, brilliant mind. _Especially_ if it drives him right out of his beautiful, brilliant mind.

"Don't hold back," he says; not that he thinks for one moment that Bull will. Just that it's a good thing to say, and he definitely means it. "Ride me like my life depends on it…"

" _Your_ life?" There's a strange little flicker across Bull's lips. Memories of a horse pushed to nearly extremis. A feverish, mumbling man Bull wasn't sure would make it. 

Maybe it's the afterglow making him a little maudlin, but the concept – even distant and fictional – of losing him? It makes Bull's chest flush below the collarbones, makes his nostrils flare with uncontained anger. "You are _safe_ if I exist. You will never. Be hurt. If I have any say in the matter…"

His hands move to shoulders, and Bull starts to use that fury and fear. It coils in his gut like a venomous snake, and he rams his core down, over and over. "I will _not_ lose you, now." 

Dorian wasn't trying to bring up _that_ whole incident at all, so he's a little taken aback by the sudden change of tone. Then again, it _is_ extremely hot to have your lover vow to protect you, no matter what. Especially when your lover is a very tall, very powerful Qunari.

"You won't lose me ever," he gasps, because it's hard to speak under _that_ glorious ferocity. "I'd rip the Veil itself in two to get back to you. And then wrap us both up in it, to rest in absolute safety…"

OK, yes, it's a mixed metaphor, but the sentiment is real. And possibly it's not a metaphor.

Bull had been so afraid. So afraid. As soon as he'd found Dorian, he'd nearly lost him. All because he insisted on trying to play pretend. Bull is – _was_ – Ben Hassrath. He shouldn't have been so easily found out. He'd been stupid, and stupid wasn't like him.

Talk of the Veil just has him more upset. He can't – he has no control over that – and…

" **Stay with me**." It's half begging, half commanding, and Bull can't unravel it all in his head. He moves faster, but it's jagged, broken, not under the fine control he wants. "Stay…" 

Bull rams himself down, the bed bouncing under the frenetic motions, his eye jammed shut to focus, focus. (Hide.) "Kadan--" 

The shift in mood is palpable now, and it's the kind of thing that pulls Dorian's mind back into sharper focus; like fight-or-flight, but… different, at the same time. It's hard to move a great deal in his current position, but he is _very_ flexible, and all of a sudden he surges upwards with every drop of energy he has left, wrapping his arms around Bull and holding on tight.

" _Amatus_ ," he gasps, against the other man's chest. "Amatus, I'm right here, you have me…"

Bull likewise wraps his arms around his lover, hating how obviously vulnerable the conversation has made him feel. How fragile life is, how easy to lose everything. "I love you. I love you. I nearly lost you… I only just found you…" 

Shit. He's supposed to be the strong one, isn't he? He's supposed to be protecting Dorian. Not freaking out at how close he came to failing. "I'm sorry." He doesn't want to ruin things, and he moves faster, trying to give him what he needs. "I won't let you down again." 

Dorian has an extraordinarily bad track record when it comes to having Very Serious Conversations… though that might be because of who he's previously had to have them _with_ , rather than any fault on his part. Maybe. He's certainly never tried to have one right in the middle of very energetic sex. Or even slow, languorous sex. Or… sex of any kind, actually.

"You didn't," he gasps, still not sure how he's even holding himself together. "You saved me. And I'm only even _in_ danger if there's a templar around. Otherwise…"

He arches back just enough to see the other man's face, and holds out his arms, and the room _floods_ with light. Not the delicate, intimate glow of before, but raw _radiance_ , shining in his eyes, and spiralling over his skin. (It takes a _lot_ of effort. This does not show, although that only comes from _years_ of practice. And he won't be able to do anything particularly complex for a little while afterwards, if he maintains it for any length of time, because 'mana doesn't grow on trees, Dorian'.)

"…I'm _far_ from helpless. That little incident was an exception. _This_ is what you're really dealing with."

Bull should find this even more terrifying. He's making love to a force of nature, one with all the elements on the tip of his tongue, or whirling inside his fingertips. Someone who really isn't that fragile, for all he'd been rendered it by poison and templar aggression. 

It was just… the pain on his face, the way his eyes rolled up… but he's not like that, now. He's not weak and drained. He's not limping back to curl up and hide. He's…

Grey fingers span over Dorian's cheek, chasing the moving light, wondering at how it feels like nothing is there at all. _Dangerous thing_. But that doesn't need to be 'bad'. A trebuchet is a dangerous thing, after all.

It's just… Dorian is a lot of trebuchets, and they can all throw fire. 

And he has to stop forgetting that, just because he rendered him that way. Ripped his power from him, took his dignity, took… 

"Show me," he asks. "Show me you can hold me down, as easily as I can you." Even if it's a false equivalence. He knows (and it sort of hurts) that Dorian could always throw him off, just not physically. "Show me why your submission is _real_ , because you have to choose it." 

It is the lie you never expose. But of course Bull wants to, with him. And maybe he needs to be reminded, and to come to terms with the insane dichotomy they're in. 

Dorian can. He knows he can. He'll pay for it in the morning – and probably later tonight, too, though that part is less of an issue – but he can do it. People who haven't lived in Tevinter their whole lives forget just how powerful a well-trained mage can be. And, yes, that probably doesn't include the Qunari, given their whole permanent-state-of-war thing, but Bull has been in the south for a long time, where most mages are frightened victims, hiding in towers.

And of course there's the part where people have a tendency to look at Dorian and see only what's on the surface: his education, his social class, his refinement. _Definitely_ his fashion sense. They miss the part where he's been learning magic since he was barely old enough to walk and talk. Learning _serious_ magic since before his age was even in double-digits.

An heir to a seat in the Magisterium itself. A seat he'll likely never get, because his father has probably disowned him by now, but that won't ever take away his skill.

He smiles. He _is_ going to pay for this in the morning, because Bull is a lot bigger than anyone he's ever tried this on before. But that doesn't matter.

When he moves, he moves _fast_. Both hands slam back against Bull's chest, the light in the room fading instantly – meaning the first effect will be the sudden disorientation – and then briefly sparking back in just one spot, as he sends a single, much more intense pulse of _lightning_ straight into the man on top of him. And this _will_ hurt. It's pitched to do no more than that, but it will be impossible to ignore.

And then the tricky part. A surge of energy, not without but _within_ ; mana turning to stamina in his veins, the very fabric of the Veil _juddering_ as he warps it as much as he can in little more than a breath, all for one burst of strength that – from an external perspective – seems to come out of nowhere.

A hand on the other man's shoulder. Knee up, push down, hand on the other shoulder, and Dorian has Bull flipped over onto his back as though they've both been hit by a tidal wave, and _oh_ but that's a very intense experience when they're still coupled as they are. On top – physically, yes, and mentally too, if only for a moment – Dorian slams down physically so his hands are either side of Bull's head, holding himself up and staring the other man right in the face.

"Is that real enough for you, amatus?" he asks.

Holy… Bull is shocked (and he's rarely, truly shocked) to feel the sudden electric-hot need back in his balls. The way his dick is full and trying to drill a hole in the world to find the Fade all by itself. That is so fucking hot that he just – he – 

_Mages are dangerous_. It's something he knows. Knows deep, deep in his bones. This one is **very** dangerous, but Bull isn't the slightest bit afraid. Turned on, yes. Impressed, absolutely. Proud? That such a powerful creature would choose to be his, and choose to let him control him?

Yep. 

And why is it that knowing it could go the other way makes it feel even more important and real that it doesn't? (Well, until now, and he's certain it won't stop them switching back as soon as they want to.) 

Yes.

Dorian isn't in danger, not now. Although Bull will be watching for templars with a _very_ keen eye, Dorian is not in any danger. (Except from asshole Vints. And then just emotionally.) The hyper-aware, hyper-vigilant mode he's been in since they met… he can let it go.

" _Yes, kadan_." He pushes up, just to feel the pressure that refuses to let him move. His heart thuds faster, and his remaining eye goes **black**. "Take me _right now_." It's a plea, or – request – or – he's not sure. But he knows this is good, so good, and he can barely squirm. 

That makes Dorian smile, silently relieved that he hasn't just monumentally fucked up. And… now he knows he hasn't, the after-effects of the action hit him: a sudden, very intense power-high (you learn how to prolong _that_ too, especially if you're as much of a hedonist as he is) and a wave of adoration for the man currently beneath him.

"I told you," he says, " _your wish is my command_." Which is not – this time – a statement of surrender. Oh no. Just a… very pleasing callback.

And then he's moving, his hips quickly snapping into a firm rhythm as he chases pleasure for both of them. Pleasure he's – technically – supposed to ask permission for first. Maybe he won't. Maybe there will be consequences. He likes those too.

He leans in closer, so they're almost nose-to-nose, one hand moving to rest on the side of Bull's face as Dorian speeds up, the sex and the power-high chasing him out of his own mind almost as effectively as surrendering does, but with a very different hue. His breath is hot against Bull's lips, becoming more and more ragged, and he knows he won't last much longer.

The feeling beneath it all is what matters to Bull. Not the angles, not the tabs and slots. Not the speed, or the pressure, or the number of times you thrust. Pleasure is one thing, and a good thing, but… it's… when Dorian touches him, it's _more_. When his kadan kisses him. When he can see in his eyes the intent, the emotion…

It rakes through him, deeper than blades can. Touches those things the Qun never could. Parts of him that yearn, and long, and need. That fear, and love, and long, and want. Things that _are_ him, inextricably and unequivocally. 

Bull places his hand over Dorian's, tenderly, adoringly. His chest heaving as he lifts his legs to wrap his ankles under Dorian's rump, the position opening him wider, and giving him the ability to urge him on with his heels. He nods, and nods, and he's ready. He's ready. 

" _Yours_ ," he promises, and knows Dorian will know… well, precisely that it means 'all' of him. Literally, figuratively, emotionally. Bull _doesn't_ let others in. He still doesn't. Just this one. 

Something about that hits Dorian even harder than he's prepared for, and he presses his forehead against Bull's as completion hits him like a fresh wave of force, ripping through his body in glorious waves. He cries out, but it's as much from the emotion as it is from physical release, and all he can do is ride through the pleasure until it starts to fade back, leaving him floating on a very complex high.

He drops down against Bull, gasping hard; face moving to rest in the curve of the other man's neck and just holding onto him.

" _Yours_ ," he whispers in reply, and means it just as much.

Perhaps fortunately, the second time around isn't usually as… voluminous as the first, but by the time Dorian drops down against him, Bull's second climax of the – well – this part of the evening has splashed between them, meaning he has a cuddly, too-pretty man coiled over him and all but glued to him in the sticky proof of his own, too-intense climax. 

Bull… shudders air in, the orgasm still thudding in each heartbeat, fading like distant music that stays in your mind after it leaves your ears. He cradles Dorian's skull, trying to make it as comfortable as he can, as his legs slip down to just rest over the other's ankles. He makes a good mattress, he knows, and he likes having Dorian lie on top of him and slowly come down. 

His mind is… a mess. One minute it's running from one side of Thedas to the other, the next it's staring blankly into the bottomless ocean. It's all… feeling, and more than one of them. No – that doesn't do it justice. It's a blade, beaten and folded in heat, and every fold another equally-sharp layer of feelings. All of them intense, and none of them bad. 

You should not feel this much just from being buggered, should you? 

"That was… I mean… you know, right?" Bull shudders again, all the way down his spine. "That was _damn good_." 

" _Yeah_ ," Dorian agrees, and right now he sounds higher than the sun. "That was _amazing_. Even for us."

He holds on tighter, because… _because_. Wow. His mind is simultaneously racing faster than his heart, and as slow as the gentlest waves on a distant shore, and all he wants to do right now is just lie in the other man's arms and let these feelings last as long as possible.

"We should do that again. Just not yet, because I don't think I can move."

"And I kind of just want to hold you, for a while," Bull confesses. "Damn. I knew you were something, but…" He whistles through his teeth. "You're not gonna object to playing coin-toss some times, I take it? Because… gotta say, I like _both_. And I've – I mean – that was _new_."

Which is his awkward way of admitting that it is, in fact, something he's not done anything remotely like before. 

A little shuffle, and he's got them where they smush together best, and his arm curls around Dorian's waist to keep him where Bull wants him. "Doesn't mean I don't want to rail the fuck out of you. Just means… it'll _mean_ more." 

His head drops back, an appreciative groan rattling them both. "…you didn't do too much, did you? Do you – do you need to eat, or drink, or… should I shut up and let you recover?" 

Dorian laughs, warmly, and still a little distant. "Just hold me," he says. "I'll be fine. I won't be doing anything like that again for a few hours… but it was _worth it_."

And then some. He rarely gets to let loose quite so intensely, and that's probably for the best, because otherwise he'd want to do it all the time. Right now he feels like every inch of him is thrumming with heat, and for once it's not just because of the very good sex.

"And no," he adds, with a smile. "I don't mind switching occasionally. I know what I like… but I also know what I like the _most_ , and that's you, happy. Plus this feels really, _really_ good…"

"Shit. You're not allowed to say that! Because…" Bull grabs his chin, and pulls him to bump noses. "Turns out I like _you_ happy. So we're screwed." His grin widens, and he decides now is when he wants kisses. A lot of kisses. The kind that taste of satisfied, smug complacency. 

And then he spanks one hand into Dorian's butt-cheek, only to grind the man against himself, making the place they still join tingle at the jostling. He lifts from the kiss, whuffing in amusement. "I'm sorry I… you know. I guess it got to me too much, when you were hurt. And before you say it wasn't my fault, it _was_ in that you being captured was my fault. You were only vulnerable because of what I did. And I wasn't… okay with that. But you're you again, now, and… I think I needed to see it."

Cough. "Plus. _Hottttttt_." 

Dorian gives a _very_ happy sigh and curls in even more at that. "I'm glad you approve," he says, in a light, playful tone, even though the statement is also very serious. He _is_ glad. Not everyone appreciates what mages can do, and whilst he's done enough already to know that he wasn't going to scare Bull off, it's still good to be sure that he doesn't have to hold back.

"And it's OK," he adds, his tone actually more serious now. "I don't blame you, you know. If you hadn't been there, someone else might have been. Or _no one_ else might have been. So anything you did to be complicit, you cancelled out by being in the right place to save my life."

"I guess I just needed to… uh. Feel you were… back to yourself. Properly. To put that to rest." Bull swallows. "I've lost people, before. People I cared about, and I didn't care about them anywhere near as much as I do for you. Knowing I don't need to watch your back _every_ minute, but maybe every three… it helps."

Not like he will start being complacent. It's just that some of the anxiety and uncertainty is fading, now. 

Bull runs a stubby finger over Dorian's temple, his expression far too soft. "Not gonna apologise for being there. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have met you. You wouldn't have brought _me_ back home. I don't know if there's some shit that makes things happen, but if there is… I think we both got luckier than we hoped we could." 

And then there's a stray thought, which… "You still up for… ideas? For later, I mean." 

Dorian kisses the other man's jaw, still touched by the sentiment. Still getting used to how real it is. Not because he doesn't trust Bull, but because he's not sure how he got so lucky.

"I'm back to myself," he says. "It takes a lot to take me _out_ of myself, and even then it's usually only for short bursts. And now usually your fault." He smiles, fondly… and clearly interested. "Speaking of which, you're going to have to tell me what you're thinking of. Otherwise I shall dwell on it for days."

"As tempting as that torture would be…" Oops, more ideas… "This wandering mage… the one who is beset by a brutish, amorous thug…" Bull's head tilts. 

"Maybe said wandering mage _really_ puts up a fight. Not the kind that kills, of course. He's taken some weird-ass vow or he's cursed or something. But he _really_ tries to stop the brute…"

Bull's legs spread around him, only to fold over his calves. Snuggly. Not pushing, but enjoying the overall contact. 

"…maybe he _fights_ , and the brute has to **really** make it clear how much he's wanted. Has to use all his strength and cunning… and even when he's fucking the air out of him, the mage doesn't want to admit he _needs_ to be chased until he's exhausted. Harried, like prey. Brought down and kept there. Wild thing… unwilling to be tamed unless it's the right hand…"

Dorian practically _purrs_ at the words, a shiver running through him at the thoughts and images they conjure up. "Now _that_ sounds intriguing."

And by 'intriguing', what he actually means is 'like something we should do as soon as possible'.

"I could be persuaded… I _do_ like a good fight, after all, and I won't mind losing if you're making it worth my while… mmmmm."

Possibly he should not sound so dreamy. Possibly he doesn't care.

Bull is enough of a bastard to choose this moment to slip a finger into Dorian, starting to glide it in and out. He's still slick and sloppy from before, nicely loose but still sensitive. He swirls around, and sighs happily. 

"Oh, you'd enjoy losing to me. You'd enjoy being distracted from the win by what my hands would do to your body. You'd be able to resist, to begin with… but your energy would drain, your resolve… you'd put up a fight, of course, but you'd know deep down you'd thrown it…"

He grabs an earlobe between his teeth, a little snarl of excitement on his lips. "Watching you burn through every last shred of denial, watching your body take over from your mind… why would you resist, when you know what my hands can do to you? When you yield… you'll yield _everything_. Fall from the highest tower to the deepest moat. Watching the world go past as you sink into your need… seeing the things you conjure twist and fade… I'll fuck the magic so deep into your bones, you'll be convinced your insides glow in the dark…" 

" _Oh_ ," Dorian groans, unashamedly, loving that mental image, to say nothing of the sudden finger slipping into him whilst he's still buried inside Bull. "Yes. I would fight. Fight with all I had."

OK, not _all_ , because that would be dangerous, but enough to make it feel like he was. "You'd have to work _hard_ to subdue me. Harder than you ever have before."

Oh yes. That. Apparently, he enjoys the force, so getting to provoke even more will just make it better. And if he knows Bull will be secretly impressed the whole time, that's good too.

"I don't want to _break_ you, not in ways you no longer work… just break past that barrier… break past the surface layer, into the _real_ you." Bull slips a second finger in, bending and nudging, chasing where Dorian needs it most. Even if it's too soon to full refract, the stimulation will always be nice. Even if some of that nice is masochistic nice. 

Bull doesn't stay 'down' for long, either, and he trails kisses over his brow, and rumbles in satisfaction. "I'd give every last ounce of strength I had to pin you down as you tried to buck me off, and the writhing would just please us both, more. Destroy the bed. Rip the sheets. Neither of us needing to hold back our strength… the more you resist, the harder you come… and I wouldn't stop just because you'd come… work your wrecked hole, suck your twitching cock while you hold my horns… force you over that edge again and again… you can take it. I know you can take it. I'll blow your brains out, _Vint_." 

The word is very deliberate, because Bull has three fingers in him, now, and the fourth drags around the stretched-taut skin. He murmurs lazily, and then pushes them all in, so only his thumb is out and pressing under his balls. "You thought you knew what decadence was. You only scratched the surface. I'm gonna make you _scream_." 

Dorian manages _not_ to scream at that, but it's a close-run thing, and fuelled entirely by pride. He doesn't want to break too easily, after all (unless that's the point, but right now it really isn't).

"I'd like to see you try," he says, which can of course be interpreted both ways. And whilst it might nearly kill him if they try right _now_ , that's unlikely to stop him. Or Bull, for that matter.

The whole resistance-thing doesn't look too effective either, given the way he's biting his lip to keep from crying out at the fingers in his ass… though whether it would be to beg for mercy or for more is hard to say right now, even for him. One thing that _is_ for sure is that his traitorous cock is starting to get interested again, and that's something the other man will _not_ miss. Or fail to take advantage of.

Bull might be twice-happy, but Dorian's still one go behind, and that simply would not do. As he feels the thickening inside, he deliberately tenses up, working over the intrusion, moaning at how nice it feels. Just because he prefers to top it doesn't mean he has no idea what to do this way around.

And if you happen to be pushing all five digits of your hand into the man fucking you? Well, then it becomes pretty much even, doesn't it? He grabs and pours more lube over the rest of his hand, then tightens his fist and… push… push… _push_ … slips the widest part in, until the rim is clutching at his wrist. 

"Such a _greedy_ little bottom. So eager. You _do_ like being pumped full, don't you?" He coos it affectionately, gently nudging his hand inside, watching every flicker of response. "Mmm. You really do love me taking you apart… _can_ you even break? Or do you just accept anything I throw at you?"

"Oh… _fuck_ …" Dorian groans, intelligently, pressing his head into the curve of Bull's neck and trying to fight the urge to ride his hand. It feels like he's being split in two in the very best way possible, and his hips are shaking under the intrusion, his mind going haywire just beneath the surface.

"…and… sure I can," he adds, because he knows no one can take _everything_. "Just… like to make you w-work for it… _ah_!" He hisses in a breath as it starts to get gloriously too much. " _Festis bei umo canavarum…_ "

Bull wraps his other hand around Dorian's neck, comforting rubs of his fingers that counter-point the way he's now thrusting his fist in, and up, and then angling one way then the other… he wants to make good on his promises, and he _loves_ when Dorian becomes incoherent and shaky, when he sweats, and shudders, and loses his grip on himself. 

"So… we know you like it hard… we know you like it to hurt… we know you like to be touched when it's too much…" His thumb glides behind his ear, then down his neck. "We know you like to be made to wait…" 

Bull starts to tilt his waist, riding the cock that's still inside him, very happily pointing out how easily he can top from any position he likes. "…you like everyone knowing you're getting some… now all we need to do is me take you back to Tevinter and let them all know you're being buggered blind by a big, evil Tal-Vashoth. Would you like to go back in chains, or in my arms?" 

"W-why not both?" Dorian manages, clearly completely out of his mind now. "I like chains. But I also like being carried. So… there."

It conjures up all sorts of lovely mental images. And just _think_ of the scandal. If it wouldn't get them both killed, he'd suggest it right now.

Or, he would if he could focus on complicated things like that, instead of trying not to fall to pieces right here, body shaking as the stimulation gets too much, too much, _far_ too much, and he's not going to beg, he's not, he won't, he…

"…please… please, I can't… can't take…"

"Oh, you _can_. And you **will**." Bull plants his feet, and grinds himself against Dorian, even though he's below, showing just how strong his thighs are. He's snapping up to meet him, even as his fist pushes harder inside. "You can… I won't even stop when your balls are empty, kadan. I'll touch you, rub you, suck you, kiss you…"

His fingers start to flare out from the fist, pushing against the internal resistance of Dorian's struggling body. "…drape you in silks, ribbons, the finest lyrium-chased chains… barely decent and the largest scrap you're wearing the smile on your face… in my arms, against my chest, as I walk through Minrathous and tell the whole Magisterium that you're _mine_ and you set anyone on fire who I don't rip to shreds if they object…"

_Fuck_ , but that really is a lovely image, and Dorian can't help indulging it even further… except that doing so then only makes him _more_ aroused, and he's already at the point where pleasure and pain stop being different things and just _exist_. A **lot**.

"Why don't we just… take over whilst we're at it..?" he manages. "We've never had a Qunari archon… time for a change, I say… I… _fuck_ … **fuck** … I can't… I'm going to… I need… _please_ …"

"Qunari, non-magical… and a gay magister his – what would we be? Is there even a term in Tevene? Would you want to turn their slurs into badges of honour, or ruin the 'sanctity' of their entire understanding of marital union? I'm fine with either. But you _will_ be wearing more accessible clothing, even if it has lots of buckles. No excuse when the temperature is fine…" 

Bull likes the ridiculous fantasy. He has no desire to rule Tevinter, but he'd happily help Dorian do it if it was a) wanted and b) remotely feasible. In fantasy, though… he can sit on any throne with his beloved in his arms. 

"I'm not the one holding you back," Bull points out. "You are. What's wrong? You needed _more_?" He stretches his fingers wider, and seals his mouth around the mage's, ready to swallow down any scream right into his own gut. 

And Dorian does scream. Oh, he screams, seconds before everything inside just _snaps_ , and he's coming harder than he has any right to, given it's not the first time tonight. He rides Bull's hand with all the strength he has left, chasing every last drop of pleasure like a man possessed, on and on until he finally collapses with a rough, broken gasp, no longer able to hold himself up.

He tries to say something intelligent. Or not intelligent. Or, fine, just _coherent_. But all he manages is a weird little high-pitched murmur followed by a juddering exhale. The smile on his face says it all, though.

With Dorian a boneless, breathing rag-doll on top of him, Bull smiles. It aches something terrible in his chest, but it's a sweet and wanted pain. He knows he's given him all he was capable of, and he knows Dorian's in that beautiful place that follows right after. 

Bull's fingers slowly furl back together, easing off the pressure, aware of each twitch and spasm that works his wrist, still. He knows his own release is coating his fingers, mingled with the lube, and he slowly withdraws to leave just the three middle fingers inside. He doesn't want him to feel too empty, and that should be the happy middle ground. 

"That's right, kadan, that's right." His voice is soothing, sure, calm. Even if his heart pounds in his chest, matching the mage's own in tempo. "There you go… that's what you deserve. You deserve this. To be adored and defiled, and held afterwards. So strong, so strong." 

Bull coos the words right by his ear, knowing the headspace he's in will take the praise and affection at the face value he means it, without the unconscious doubt or instinctive guard that he maintains everywhere else. "Such a beautiful thing you are. So powerful, and all mine. I _would_ take the whole Imperium on for you, but they don't nearly deserve what you are. You're so strong, so very strong, but you don't need to be. Not all the time. Not here. Not with me."

Dorian processes the words, even if he can't quite respond to them verbally yet. He can curl in a little tighter, though; craving the comfort, the contact, the awareness of being _loved_ that was so alien to him not all that long ago.

Holding on. Holding on to the man who saved his life, and not just in a literal sense. He'd been so very lost when he left Tevinter, with a goal in mind but little idea of how to achieve it, and no idea what he'd do if he somehow did. What do you do, when going home is no longer an option?

Maybe you just move where home is.

"…mmmmm…" he tries, but there aren't any words. He certainly sounds happy, though.

Bull doesn't need words to understand. He can read a novel in the move of an eyebrow. The way hands move. The sound of someone's breathing. Right now, everything radiating from the man he's cuddling is happy, calm, content… complete. Hopeful. 

It's so very refreshing. Not just to witness, but to know he's largely responsible for it. To know he can fall apart a little, and the world doesn't end. That he can give this place and experience to his kadan. 

Bull grabs the blanket they'd tossed aside in their previous throes, and pulls it up to Dorian's ears, so he can be sure he won't feel cold above, as well as below. He eases another finger out, going slow so he doesn't miss it, and noses the dark curl of hair above his lip. 

"You can rest, kadan. Just lie there. I'm going to tell you all about the only parts of Par Vollen and Seheron I'll truly miss. I'm going to tell you about the coastlines, the mountains, and the warm, soft sands. I'm going to tell you the parts of the Qunari you'd never know were there. I'm going to tell you about where I grew up, and what I learned, and the things you'd like. You just lie here and listen. I'm going to tell you about a boy. They called him _Ashkaari_ , because he never stopped thinking, or asking, or wondering… I'm going to tell you about my Tama, because we _do_ know what love is, even if we pretend we don't… you just relax. It's time you heard what no one ever does…" 

The Tal-Vashoth winds out the stories, true and with all faults and failures, painting the picture of a life spent learning as he holds his kadan, lulling him to sleep with stolen treats and 'borrowed' books. Hard training, and difficult tongues. No magic, but studies of other kinds. Sword and shield, secrets and sabotage. Friends, families of other kinds, and a gap he knew was there, but he doesn't need to say he's filled. As Dorian drifts, he goes slower, softer, wrapping him tightly in the tales of years gone by.


	11. Chapter 11

"…so then I said 'you're making your staff blades out of _what?_ Do you even know how mana _works?_ ' I mean, really. Peasants!"

It's a few days later, and – having just been on what can only be classed as a shopping trip – Dorian and Bull are heading back to the Chargers' safehouse. Turns out, when Bull said he 'knew a guy', he wasn't wrong. Said guy turned out to run an establishment that has clearly been modelled on the infamous Black Emporium, albeit with slightly less nightmare-inducing decor.

Dorian has been having the time of his life. Or, at least, the time of his life that _doesn't_ involve wild, violent sex with his Qunari lover. And now, re-armed and re-stocked, they're on their way back, whilst Dorian regales said Qunari lover with stories of _other_ shopping trips he's been on, and why staff blades are apparently Serious Business in Tevinter.

That's when he's not enjoying the heft and flick of _his_ new staff, and oh, but it's good to have one back in his hands at last. A mage may not _need_ one, but it's part of the look. Plus the way it amplifies mana in combat is simply impossible to live without.

This one is surprisingly impressive for something not made in Tevinter, too. Perhaps it helps that they're in Nevarra, where the word 'necromancy' _doesn't_ make most people run for the hills. It certainly explains the horned skull atop Dorian's new acquisition, which has the added bonus of being pleasingly _pointy_ should anyone untoward get too close.

Bull listens with fond amusement as Dorian explains things about shoes which he only needs to know for using against other people. Qunari feet do not, as a rule, have a large amount of choices when it comes to coverings. They're functional. And no one makes Qunari-sized _interesting_ shoes, because no Qunari would buy them. 

So finding out new insights into the whole cobbling business is intriguing. 

Plus, he likes it when Dorian talks freely about things that interest him. And he's clearly very happy with the coin they've just dropped. So is Bull, because he really did like the axe he'd had before, but this new one has a very good grip, and… it isn't dawnstone, but it does _shimmer_ and it seems to therefore complement his other glamorous accessory.

Maybe he shouldn't use that term aloud, though. Dorian might not approve. 

As they round the bend in the dirt-track that leads to the safehouse, Bull can hear the distant whinnies of horses. Good. Krem managed to get a decent number of them. They'll not look out of place at the little farmstead, and they'll be ready for travel whenever they identify the next key target. He's eager to get back to the lyrium-face, and now Dorian is fully equipped, he's ready for him to be there, too.

"I still think the black and yellow trousers would have looked better on your crotch," he lies, just to get the stink eye, and because the idea of Dorian in such terrible clothes is… well. Enough for him to nearly wet himself. When the tailor held that swatch up, he'd been ready to grab Dorian by the collar to prevent a murder. 

"I would rather wear _Orlesian_ attire than _that_ monstrosity," Dorian retorts, with a very genuine shudder. "It clashed with my eyes. And my taste. And my sense of decency. Being seen dead in it would have been a crime to put mass-murder to shame."

It's important to remember that, in his head, this is not hyperbole.

"I see Krem made it back with the horses," he adds. "I suppose that means we'll need to set out soon."

He sounds… almost sad about this. He is not a man built for living in a remote farmstead in Nevarra, with a bunch of rowdy mercenaries-cum-spies. But… he's enjoyed it a lot more than he might ever have expected.

"Yeah, we just need a direction to point them in," Bull agrees. "Or we could just lick a finger and hold it up to the wind… there'll be assholes no matter which way we go." Not that he wants to avoid picking a fight with the ones Dorian does, it's… it's just that he knows it will be dangerous as all hell. 

"Or you want to head north and take over, or was that just pillow talk?"

"Much as it would be nice, and it's certainly a plan to save for later, alas Tevinter will be no use to us if the Venatori resurrect their Darkspawn god." Dorian does not enjoy having to be sensible. Sensible is boring. But… sensible is necessary, in this case. "So… I think we'll have to go with the other thing."

Yes. The other thing. Chasing down his former mentor to find out if he's in league with the Darkspawn-god-worshippers. Fun times.

"There's always _after_ ," Bull agrees, and then he sees Krem ahead, and he lifts his (very shimmery) axe to wave. "Look, they're waiting for us. Must have run out of booze. Shit… we didn't pick any up."

"Maybe they're just _really_ pleased to see us because they have plenty of wine already and are excited to share..?" Dorian suggests, hopefully.

"That's not a drunk-Krem." Sadly. It's a serious Krem. Bull can tell by how he stands. "It's not bad, but it's not a party. C'mon, let's find out what's going on."

***

"Chief. Buckles." Krem ducks his head very slightly to both. "Glad you're back."

"What is it, Krem?"

"Got word from some contacts. Sounds like your magister is trying to book passage for his entourage out of Ostwick."

"Ostwick? Huh. Guess he's not too keen on Kirkwall…" Bull turns to Dorian. "Thoughts?"

"That would make sense," Dorian agrees. "A bunch of Tevinters – including a magister – turning up in Kirkwall would attract a _lot_ of attention. And my people are not exactly popular there; mages doubly-so. Plus the place is a mess ever since the incident… yes. Yes. Even though Ostwick is further, it will be far safer. Less conspicuous too. And…"

Hmmm. That can't be a coincidence. "If I recall, most ships out of Ostwick to Ferelden dock in Amaranthine. Which is now a Grey Warden holding. So there's every risk he might have business there as well."

"That's where that archdemon-killing Warden went, isn't it?" Bull taps one knuckle to his lips. "Hmm. And they haven't been seen in a while?"

"That's right," Krem answers. "So. I packed ready. They have a head start. Stitches, Skinner and me are ready… you want to get anything before we saddle up?"

Dorian looks like he wants to say 'a carriage', because the thought of riding again is not a welcome one, but he's aware it wouldn't be helpful right now. "I have everything I need right here," he says, indicating first Bull, and then his staff.

Which is not strictly true, because what he _also_ needs is a soft bed, more wine, warmer climes, and peace and quiet. But sometimes you learn to work with what you have.

Bull looks… well. His brow knits, his smile warring between breaking out and… "Think maybe we should grab a _few_ things. Just to make life easier. You give us a few and get the horses ready, Krem?"

"Sure thing, Chief."

Which leaves them alone, and Bull now looks clumsy. He feels it, too. His tongue pokes past his lips, and he coughs into his hand. "Uh. You might not have remembered. And. Well. Apparently there aren't any enchantments that counter poisoning, or templars, so the best I could do… he said it was good, and it certainly was priced like it was, so if he ripped me off I'll make sure no one ever does business with him again…"

That makes Dorian smile. "You got me a gift?" he says. "Besides the _really_ impressive staff? You sly sweetheart! I will have to find a suitable way to thank you…"

His tone is light, but it's clear he's touched. And, of course, intrigued.

"Uh, he said it could cast, or enhance, or something… Cleansing Aura? Yeah, that sounds about right. Not that I'm saying you _need_ it, but it wouldn't hurt to have… It's magic, I don't know." Bull pulls out the little leather pouch he'd stashed, and dangles it from the strings for Dorian to snatch or take. 

"There's a chain, in case it didn't fit right, or you didn't want to wear it like that." More lip-licking. He really is far too open-book when it's Dorian. The slender ring is clearly dawnstone, but the merchant insisted it was fade-touched, and enchanted by the best hands in Thedas. Bull has no idea if it is what he was told, other than the base material, but it's also pretty (or he thinks it is) and now he's convinced this was a stupid idea because you don't _buy_ things like this for other people! You don't. Even if you like them. They might hate them and think they're ugly, and oh shit. 

Bull pushes the pouch into Dorian's hand, and closes the mage's fingers around it. "Eh, consider it… whatever you want to." 

Dorian is a little surprised by the tone, and by the weird edge to the other man's voice. He meets his eye and smiles, because he _is_ very grateful, and then slips the ring from the pouch and looks at it more closely. Definitely Fade-touched – he can feel it – and enchanted by someone who knew what they were doing, and…

…oh, hold on, wait, is this..? Sometimes his mind runs so fast, it has to circle back around to catch itself.

He looks up. "Are you proposing to me?"

"…are… I…" Bull is rarely at a loss for words. His face darkens in a hideous blush, and why is it that he – he can face dragons and marauding armies and apparently the wrath of the whole Qun, and…

"Yes." He forces his voice not to turn it into a question, even though he's answering that it is a question, which is a headache he didn't need to have today. "Not that anyone would acknowledge it other than us. But I don't need _them_ to validate… is that a 'yes'?" 

It would be very nice if the ground would perhaps turn into molten rock right about now. Or a freak hurricane turn up. Or something. Because he's not even sure Dorian likes all those connotations, for all he knows he likes the emotional connection and monogamy parts. And now he's analysing this too much. 

"Of course it's a 'yes'," Dorian says, softly; slipping the ring onto his finger and staring at it some more. Trying not to look like he might tear up, because that is simply not what a Proud Son of Tevinter does when his dangerous Qunari lover proposes to him in a Nevarran safehouse where they're hiding out from a Darkspawn-worshipping death cult that…

…possibly his brain has broken a little. Just not in a bad way.

"I mean… you actually…" He knows Bull wants him. Knows he wants him for more than just his body. Knows he enjoys simply being around him easily as much. But somehow, his brain still finds it hard to accept that this means he _wants him_ , wants him. "…you're… sure? I can be very… ah… _me_ …"

Apparently they both turn into blithering idiots when serious emotional talk is on the cards. Good thing Bull didn't have to ask Dorian's father for permission, first, because _that_ would probably have ended in bloodshed.

" _Dorian_. It's because you **are** you that I'm sure." Bull tilts his head to the ceiling to implore with the plaster, eye closed as he tries to wrestle control over his tongue again. 

And then he clasps both hands around the man's jaw-line, tilting his head up, and peering down as intently as he can. "Yes, you ridiculous thing. My Chargers are literally outside ready to go to _war_ against your Darkspawn-worshipping mentor. Without pay. Which-- how can I _possibly_ be clearer?"

Maybe he needs to do it properly, after all. Bull drops down to one knee, which only makes him somewhat shorter, but not quite the same effect that it would normally have. Especially considering the horns. But it's the principle of the thing, and he takes hold of the hand wearing the ring, and lifts it to kiss, and then keeps hold. "Qunari don't do this, so… I'm doing it because your people do. Because it's what you understand. And because… I want to. With _you_. Because of what it means. So. Yes. Do you need me to say it in Tevene? Because I will." 

Bull hopes to high heaven no one walks in right now, because he might just kill them. 

Now Dorian looks even _more_ touched. "You don't have to say it in Tevene. But… you do have to say it. So I can remember the words for the rest of my life."

Deep down, he is also far more sentimental than he lets on. He just hasn't ever had someone to indulge it with until now. And… oh, but this is actually real, isn't it? Is he supposed to feel giddy? He feels _giddy_.

Ridiculous man! Bull is once again reminded that his very insufferability is what draws him to him. His… self-assured (if also self-critical) and… damnit. He did say he would do it right. So Bull arches his brow, then slips the ring _off_ Dorian's finger, because if he is doing it (even if the answer is assured), then he will do it right. Two can play at that game.

He clears his throat into the other hand, then holds the ring aloft. "Dorian Pavus. You are my _kadan_. You are what lives in my heart, and I want you with me until it stops beating. So. Would you do me the ultimate honour of – will you marry me?"

And he is blushing so far to the base of his horns that he worries they may just melt off his head. He refrains from adding 'if it does stop beating please only reanimate me for a short time, as I don't want to be an undead soldier forever', because he feels it would spoil the moment. But it's hard not to. 

Dorian's hands are not shaking. They are not. He is the picture of level adoration, and not a man who is _actually_ tearing up now; staring down at this insane, wonderful Qunari who has somehow re-written his world in a few short weeks. And who he can't imagine being without.

"Yes," he says, just about managing to stop his breath catching on the word. "Yes, amatus, I will."

Bull holds the ring delicately between finger and thumb, and takes Dorian's hand to slide the glimmering band on. So it isn't traditional, but neither are they. It's also supposed to be damned useful at keeping people alive, and even if it isn't, it's pretty. When it's in place, he dips his head to brush his lips over the soft skin of his knuckles, taking longer than needed, showing he's… patient. In his own way. 

And then he looks up. "Can I stand back up, now?" He's grinning, but before Dorian has a chance to reply, there's a loud hoot from the window.

Where… well. Several of the Chargers are now banging on the pane, and cheering.

" _Son of a---_ , I will **kill** you, Krem!"

Krem puts two fingers in his mouth and wolf-whistles, before he's collaring the others and barking them back to the horses. 

Dorian grips Bull's hand and tugs him to his feet, then pulls him straight back down to kiss. _Hard_. It's that, or give away just how emotional he is right now – especially considering that they've had an audience this whole time – and besides, it's perfectly normal to want to kiss the man you've just agreed to marry.

_Marry_. His parents are going to kill him. That alone is almost worth the effort – and heartache – of writing to tell them. But… no. No. He wants to enjoy this for what it is: a moment of real happiness. Of proof that he _can_ be loved, by the right man.

This man. _His_ man.

"You're stuck with me now," he purrs against Bull's lips, as the kiss breaks.

"Was kind of what I was going for," Bull snorts, their noses bumping as he tries to ignore the fact he's shaken by everyone else watching. He shouldn't be, but he is, because it's… special. 

Also, Dorian said 'yes'. Which… he'd implied he would, when Bull first vaguely alluded, but you never really know if sex-addled pillow talk translates into cold-light-of-day talk. His voice is gruff from the emotion just below it, and he squeezes the hands he's holding. 

"Just so you know, I wasn't planning on changing my name, or yours. Unless you want to add things on the end, or whatever, but not for other people. And – much as I would _very_ much like to take you to our bed again… we should probably make use of the light and go after your mentor. After all, there will be a very nice bed at whatever inn we find… and I'm _sure_ the squad will want to toast us all night, first…" 

He kisses the edge of his smile, soft and sweet. "We could probably get away with a few more kisses, though…" Say, if he braces and holds Dorian's lower back, then dips him backwards something fierce as he kisses him just as deeply. 

Dorian holds on, letting Bull kiss him as much as he wants. This is far, _far_ too lovely, which means he wants to enjoy it for as long as possible. Longer, really, but the realities of life do have a tendency to intrude whether you want them to or not.

"It needs to be a _very_ , very nice bed. And a very, very nice inn," he says, as the kiss breaks; eyes sparkling with delight. "With good wine. Somewhere appropriate to spend our engagement night."

Which is not, of course, a Tevinter tradition; certainly not among the Altus. Most couples of his social class would barely have any interaction before they were wed (otherwise half of them would find a way out of it). But he's definitely in favour of making some new traditions.

"I'll let you pick the inn. And even the wine. And then I'll pick what I do with you, when I finally get you alone…" Bull lets his voice rumble over that promise, and then steals another kiss before he's easing Dorian back to his feet. 

He really, really wishes they could at least have a quick round, but they don't do anything quick, and he hadn't planned to do this now, it was just… going off to fight the Imperium's most insane Vint cultists? Probably best to ensure you give them the ring before you both go off. 

Ah, fuck it. Another kiss, and a very, very firm grip of his ass, dragging him in for a hasty little rub, then he steps back with all kinds of demons dancing in his eye. "Sound fair, kadan?"

"Sounds perfect," Dorian agrees, still smiling. Still _buzzing_ with how good he feels, and how much he's looking forward to tonight. Even more so than usual.

He's in no hurry to let go, either, but he does so reluctantly when the moment comes. "I suppose this means we have to go off and be sensible," he says. "But I just want you to know… this was perfect. Even when you looked like you might combust."

There's a very fond look in his eyes at this, and it's clear any teasing is meant in the gentlest way possible.

Bull huffs, though it's for show. "I hadn't planned to do it right this minute. I'd have been more composed otherwise… and you threw me off-guard." He really can do a very adorable pout of his own, when he so chooses. 

"And I guess at least we don't have to work out how to tell the guys." On account of the spying little shits intruding on their moment. Bull is going to clip Krem around the ear for that one. "We can do as traditional or not as you want. But if there's a dress, you're wearing it. And I want a _lot_ of cake."

"No dresses," Dorian says. "But I could be talked into a flower crown if it would make you happy. And I _definitely_ agree on the cake."

Also, wine. But this much is a given, so should be taken as such.

From the slightly wistful look on his face… Bull likes the idea. "I'm not averse to dresses. They just don't fit Qunari very well. And if you want me to, I will even wear a shirt. For the start of the thing, anyway. Oh! I could cut the cake with my _axe_! Do you put candles on those ones? Because you could use magic to light them…" 

"We don't _traditionally_ put candles on a wedding cake, no. But we also don't _traditionally_ allow both members of the couple to be men. Or any of them to be Qunari. So… we're making our own traditions. And if you want multi-coloured flames on your wedding cake, amatus, you shall have it."

He's having too much fun now. Someone should stop him before he gets any worse.

"And cheese dip and those bread stick things," Bull adds. "And the tiny flowers made out of fruits. And the melted chocolate thing." He does, of course, know all the gourmet terms, he just finds them far too pretentious, even if they taste nice. 

"Oh yes… and just think of the _outfits_ we could come up with," Dorian goes on, now looking dreamy. "Something with gilt brocade, and plenty of buckles… hmmmmm…"

"Bear in mind," Bull starts, holding his hand out for Dorian in an attempt to guide him out and on the way to adventure, "…that anything you wear on your wedding night is going to be _ripped_ off you. So make it as fancy as you want, so long as you won't object to being ravished in the tattered remains of it."

"Darling, we're talking about my wedding day," Dorian points out, easily. "If I don't change outfits at least twice, I'm clearly not even trying. So only the last one will need to be… expendable."

He doesn't look unhappy about this thought, though. Quite the opposite.

"You mean I have to wait until the evening? What if I want to kick everyone out after the ceremony and defile you on the altar, before the dancing and the food?" More pouting, and trying not to think about how they're leaving the safehouse now, which had been… it had become rather homely. 

Not that he isn't looking forward to some out-of-the-bedroom action. Of all kinds. 

"You came quick," Krem calls out, from where he's holding Bull's horse by the reins, astride his own. Skinner has Dorian's, and looks less happy about it. 

"Hey, I can keep it in my pants if I want to," Bull calls back. "It doesn't always live in his." 

"Just most of the time," Dorian adds, still looking dreamy and now in the process of mentally designing outfits for everyone. What are Krem's best colours? He's going to have to find some way to do a palette…

Reality intrudes, though, and he stares at the horse with some disdain. "This one better be friendlier than my last one," he grouses, slinging his pack onto the saddle and securing his staff to the side. "Though I note with unbridled joy that they smell the same."

"It's a horse," Krem points out. "They stink just as bad in the Imperium. Guess you were further away from the arse, there." He's clearly teasing, from the slight twist in his tone. "Chief told us to get you a calm one. She's a good horse."

"You know, if you're nice to them, they can tell." Bull stands close to give Dorian any hand up he needs (well, and to get a view of _his_ arse when he mounts). "Try it. They're smart creatures, and they read into any danger, which includes if you're afraid." 

"I am not _afraid_ ," Dorian insists. "I merely prefer more comfortable modes of transport."

He's just grousing for the sake of it, though, because this _is_ the best travel option available, given that they need to move fast. And whilst he doesn't need a hand up, he still takes the one Bull offers, because any excuse to touch him is worth taking. And if the grip lingers… well, neither of them will mind.

"But if you _dislike_ them, then they are afraid of _you_ ," Bull says, as he helps him settle. And maybe runs his fingers over the new band on his hand. "Try it. Even if it's only 'begrudging approval'. You might find it sucks less."

Stitches suddenly clears his throat.

Bull glowers.

"What?"

"C'mon, Chief. He lost the bet. Let him off."

"You were _betting_ , Krem?" 

"Yeah. On how long it'd take you guys."

Bull blinks. "…right. How 'bout we don't do that again?" He takes his own horse's reins and levers himself with ease up onto his own mount. It's another draught horse, sturdy and reliable, and it puts him even higher above everyone else. 

And… "So who won?"

Krem grins wider still. 

"Good boy."


	12. Chapter 12

They ride for the rest of the day, heading east, following one of the less-major roads that leads out of Nevarra and will eventually take them into the Free Marches. By the time they come upon a suitable tavern it's late – almost dark – and Dorian for one is very relieved to see homely lights and the promise of decent hospitality.

Before long, lodgings have been procured, the horses have been stabled, and the five of them – Bull, Dorian, Krem, Stitches and Skinner – are settled around a scrubbed wooden table close to the fire.

That helps too. How do people even _cope_ living in a place that's so cold?

There's decent, hot food, which is very welcome, and then along comes the wine, which is even more so.

"Now this is more like it," Dorian says, as cups are poured for everyone. "Maybe I could get used to this adventuring-thing."

"Once you get the taste of it… it never gets old," Stitches says, swirling his cup and sighing happily. "You never stay one place long enough to get bored. Always something new to do…"

"Always some _one_ new," Bull says, nudging the medic with his elbow. "That's why he wants to move on. Before any of the tavern girls get too attached."

"Not true, but I do like variety."

Krem tilts his head, looking at Dorian. "How did you survive at first? And I don't mean that rude. I mean… you never had to worry about shit did you?"

"Not in the sense you mean," Dorian replies. "There were a lot of pressures growing up, but I suppose they sound irrelevant when you consider them against what others in Tevinter were going through. What they still go through. As for how I survived when I left home… I had to. I had little reason to fear bandits on the road, so I just… kept going."

A pause, for more wine. "I hated it, though. It was lonely, it was dull, and it was rapidly too cold for my taste. Without suitable motivation, I probably would have given up and gone back home. But… I _did_ have suitable motivation. Stopping and giving up wasn't an option. So… I didn't."

Bull sits with his cup, mulling over that. When Harland and he found Dorian… "How long had you been travelling when we caught up with you?" 

He knows just how much Dorian needs company, mental stimulus, feedback. No wonder he'd been so eager to spill everything when they did start talking. 

"At least two weeks," Dorian answers. "Possibly three? You lose track of time. Trouble is, you also lose track of coin. Or, in my case, start to run out of it… which is why I sold the horse. It may have slowed me down, but it also enabled me to get a bed in a tavern, rather than sleeping under a tree again. _Kaffas_ , I detest camping…"

"I'll keep you warm if we have to camp, now," Bull promises, and ignores the noises from the crowd. "And I'm concerned what your long term plan was to finance this. Were you going to sell your body, or just turn rogue?"

"Please tell me you didn't adopt a wench," Krem laughs. "And before you hit me: joking, joking."

"I didn't adopt any wenches," Dorian insists. "And any… friends… I made along the way were rapidly left behind me as I moved on." He says this part oddly fast, because he _did_ have several hookups on his journey, and he doesn't think it's exactly classy to talk about them to his new fiancé on the day they've gotten engaged.

"I… suppose I would have had to fend for myself even more when the money ran out," he goes on. "I know how to hunt, although I imagine it's a little harder without people going ahead to chase the prey out of the bushes for you…"

It's clear his plan was: survive, because I have to. Probably best not to dwell on whether or not that would have worked.

"Ah, no. Not that. I meant: the Chief adopted _you_. You're not supposed to get attached to them. Or so I'm told." Krem shrugs. 

"Dorian is not a wench, and if he was a wench, none of you would be able to afford him, and he's also entirely off the market as he's going to be my unlawfully wedded husband, thank you very much." Bull nods, making that particular thing final. 

And then, to Dorian: "Anyone you met before was just so you could appreciate what you got in the end. Same here. Also, possibly to get good at it." 

He isn't jealous of purely physical history. Anyone he had any emotional link to – consummated or not – that is a different matter, but he also knows Dorian chose _him_ , so his jealousy can go Blight itself. 

"I could be a wench if I wanted," Dorian points out, easily; the wine starting to take effect. "I'm _very_ creative and I can drink anyone under the table if I put my mind to it. Though I am spoken for now, so the point is moot."

Though from the look he's now giving Bull, the point is definitely not moot in _his_ very particular case.

"And no," he adds, "I don't think you are supposed to get attached under normal circumstances. But our dear Bull wasn't dealing with normal circumstances. He was dealing with _me_."

"Also, I didn't _pay_. And I would have. If you were a wench. But you're not. And you could be, but you aren't, and-- _Kadanshok defransdim vashedan!_ Knock it off!" Bull slams his empty tankard down. "I need to be more drunk for this."

"We all do… and it's alright, Buckles, even if you weren't the Chief's, you'd be totally safe from all of us." Stitches pats his (more clothed) shoulder. "Even if you would make a very pretty wench. So… brothers?"

One of the tavern girls brings over another tray of ales, and another bottle of wine for those drinking wine (or both). Krem maybe is a little too distracted by her than is soberly polite. 

"…see," Stitches points out. "No competition."

"Or from me," Skinner adds, clearly eyeing up the same serving girl.

"I would make an excellent wench," Dorian points out, happily going along with it. "I enjoy attention and I look fabulous in silk. And whilst I'm deeply touched by the offer of emotional brotherhood, aren't I really more like your second father now? Or perhaps some form of roguish uncle…"

"Well, if you _are_ my father, I'd rather not think about you in silks. If it's all the same to you." But Stitches is grinning with drunken ease, and he toasts his ale to Dorian's wine, and then quaffs a considerable amount.

Bull's knuckles go white over the tankard he's holding. " _My_ wench," he rumbles, rather possessively. "You dance for me. Take you back to the room I hired. Mmmmnnh. Maybe you need to convince me to keep you…" He glances over the rim of his vessel, making it very clear he's talking about another scenario, and not any inherent doubt. 

"Pretty sure my real parents weren't like this," Krem says, shaking his head. 

"Pretty sure if they were, you wouldn't be born, because both of us have dicks," Bull returns. "But it's not from want of trying. If you want a baby brother or sister, go look for one we can adopt."

Dorian looks like he wants to down what's left of his current drink and climb straight onto Bull's lap. This is because he _does_ , and it's hard to resist the urge, and if he gets any drunker then he likely _won't_ be able to resist it.

"Oh, I'll convince you all right," he says, with a wicked smile. "By the time I'm done, you won't doubt a thing…"

"…You know the rest of us are still here, yes?" Skinner cuts in, looking like she's close to pulling out one or more knives.

"I like it when people watch… some things." Bull's eye slits, a tiny lift of his head straight at Dorian, ignoring the others. "And I just saved this wanton wench from a life of whoring out to inferior dicks. He's _grateful_."

"Maker," Krem mutters, into his own drink. "I hope you get to the old, married couple phase soon."

"Give it time, give it time." Stitches pushes a finger into a deep groove on the table, sliding through the remains of drinks gone by. "They'll have the honeymoon phase and then they'll get boring."

"You think _he_ will ever get boring?" Bull harrumphs. "I'll un-invite you from the wedding."

"You haven't actually invited any of us, yet, Chief."

"I haven't had time to make fancy little _cards_ , Krem, but I **will**." 

"That is a _very_ good point!" Dorian exclaims. "We will have to talk stationery! Do you prefer your calligraphy in gold or silver? And _oh_ , we're going to have to visit an officer of arms to get a crest done before we can send anything out…"

He looks dreamy again. He fully realises his status as a social pariah back home – and his Qunari fiancé – means the chances of a big wedding are slim to none. But a man can dream. Even if it's about calligraphy. ( _Especially_ if it's about calligraphy.)

Besides, it's that or get distracted by the latest mental image Bull has put in his head. Which is _so_ happening later tonight.

"Rainbow, or pink," Bull declares. A snooty little lift of his head. "And I want the crinkle edges on all the card. And _scented_." 

Krem blinks. And blinks some more.

"What?" Bull flexes his shoulders out, showing off his chest. "A man can't look like this and know what high society is?"

"It's more that I'm surprised you… want that?"

"Krem, Krem, Krem… For one, it will make Dorian happy. For two, it will _piss all those posh twats off_. And for three… some nice shit is okay. Like the food. But there _will_ be drinking songs." 

"You're not joking, are you?"

"You haven't had patisserie, Krem."

"I dunno what that is, so no."

"Well, dear boy, you're going to _love_ it!" Dorian enthuses, glad that Bull is so in favour of the entire thing. "Little tartlets, profiteroles… mille feuille! Krem, seriously, _mille feuille!_ Patisserie is the Maker's way of explaining the need for Orlais!"

And… now he's hungry. For _desserts_. The options in these parts are painfully lacking, and _none_ of the good berries will grow properly in this ridiculous climate.

Bull's stomach rumbles, and he makes a disgruntled noise. "Now I want cake."

Stitches shakes his head. "It's late. There won't be any cake." 

"I'm getting _married_ and there's no _cake_?" Bull is clearly more drunk than he thought, because now he's upset as well as hungry **and** horny and this all sucks. 

"You're not getting married right _now_. There will be cake when you do." Krem sounds like a man who has had to reason with petulance before. 

"They should have cake here."

"It's poundcake. Or… apple pie I think?"

"Stodge! Not that I hate stodge… lot of time for a pudding… but I want _little tiny cakes, Krem_!" Bull lets his lower lip stick out. "Dorian, tell your son to get us cake. Someone must have an oven!"

"Oh, so now I'm the responsible one, am I?" Dorian says, amused. "Maker preserve us! Well, maybe the nice innkeeper will let us use the one here? Assuming one of you knows how to make pastry..?"

"…I know how to make pastry," Skinner replies, in a tone stating, quite clearly, that anyone who asks her to do so will be eviscerated on the spot.

"…anyone else?" Dorian tries, resisting the urge to back away.

"I do, but I can't do the – the – uhmm…" Bull makes a gesture with both hands, something that is entirely unrecognisable, even to him. "Twiddly bits. Big hands. All comes out looking like a child with motor difficulties got drunk and fell over. And then shat himself."

"Chief… it's your engagement party. Can't you just open a nice, big keg of ale?" Krem pleads.

"You only say that because no one ever made you _croque-en-bouche_." Bull's tummy growls even louder. "When they put the little sparkles on… and there's champagne and everything is so pretty…"

"Ah, you monster, you're making me homesick," Dorian says, with an over-dramatic wave of the hand. "These southerners do decadence wrong, if they do it at all!"

He really, _really_ wants pastry now. Something sweet and elegant, and oh, do they have any chilled dessert wines? Something floral, yes, that would be wonderful…

…he's losing his mind.

"Look," he goes on, with the forthright sensibility of a man who has already had too much to drink, "the solution here is simple. One of us will have to go and ask the innkeep if we can borrow the oven, and where they keep the confectioners' sugar. And then Bull can supervise the making of something suitably _delicious_ , and then we'll all be happy."

A beat, and a bright smile. "Cremisius, dear boy, you're the sensible one, go tell the nice man we need the use of his kitchen. Or maybe start by asking one of the serving girls? You could try flirting with them, that should get you off on the right foot."

"Flirt… until they let me use the oven. Riiiight." Krem shakes his head. "Maybe that makes sense if you're _gay_." 

"Hey, _I'm_ gay," Skinner cuts in, narrowing her eyes. "And it makes sense to me. Just don't ask me to make pastry, or someone's getting stabbed."

"Do as your father tells you," Stitches urges, trying to keep a straight face. 

Krem rolls his eyes, stands, tugs his breastplate down and strides off to the bar. 

"They grow up so fast… but they're all so short…" Bull sighs wistfully. "I keep wondering if I should get him really high heels. Platforms. Maybe a set of horns. Do you think that's weird? I don't. What's weird is why I like tiny – itsy bitsy – little, little cakes… I mean, I end up eating _more_ of them… but I couldn't eat one big one. Why? It's the same cake. Why is it nicer because it's small? It's… demons! Cake demons! Or dwarfs!"

Dorian bursts out laughing. "Cake demons! If there are cake demons I shall have to be more careful in the Fade; they might actually be able to tempt me with something. And the great thing about the teeny little cakes is that you can even eat them off someone if you ask nicely…"

He gives Bull a borderline indecent look at this, which is all eyebrows and drunken radiance, and an unspoken promise to prove it to him later.

"Or a _realllllllly_ big doughnut…" Bull licks his lips in a thoroughly inappropriate way, and leers with no consideration for decency. "All that cream. Gotta lick it all--"

"I have something better than an oven," Krem says as he returns, hoisting a leg over the chair, sitting backwards on it. He folds his arms over the top. 

"Two ovens? A… chocolatier?" Bull still hasn't stopped ogling Dorian.

"Nah. They wouldn't let you near anything more dangerous than an oil lamp. But I got us the house special."

"Krem…"

"Spotted dick."

Stitches forgets that you're supposed to _swallow_ your drink. 

Dorian nearly follows suit. "I'm sorry, you got us _what_ now?" he exclaims. "Please tell me that's a strange southern euphemism I'm unaware of, because otherwise this is going to get weird."

Because obviously it's not weird already. Right. It is time for more wine, though. How much has he had? It's going down _very_ well…

"It's a pudding. Far as I know, no dicks were harmed in the making of it." Krem nods at Stitches. "More like your lot, isn't it?"

"Yeah, that's… that's Ferelden. Uh. Well. Maybe you'll like it?"

Bull's eye widens. "Dorian gets to feed me dick at the table? Kadan… little cakes are out. Dicks are in."

"We're intelligent men," Dorian points out, in what – in his head – is an equally intelligent voice. "I'm sure we can do both. Though I'm concerned about this… is that _really_ what you call it? Is it some kind of peasant food?"

"'Ere, watch who you're calling peasants!" The Fereldan medic is suddenly less agreeable.

" _Amatus_ ," Bull says, with an overly-affected tone. "What you call 'peasant food' is actually very nutritious, on account of all the… whatsit. Labouring. So it tastes _great_ when you're drunk. Soooooo good…" The faux-Tevinter-Orlesian blend fades because he just doesn't have the energy to keep it up. (No innuendo intended.)

Which is when the lady with the tray full of puddings arrives. She places one down in front of each of them, and it's difficult to tell what wobbles longest: the custard-drowned sponges, or the bosom she flaunts in front of the only man who wouldn't want to look. 

"Hey, keep your tits away from my fiancé," Bull grouses. "We're gonna feed each other dick."

"As you please, ser." She nods, and retreats. 

"Now, now," Dorian says, grandly, "there's plenty of dicks to go around. Although… is it supposed to be shaped like that? If the Fereldans think it's supposed to be shaped like that, maybe they should see a healer…"

He picks up a spoon and prods the pudding cautiously. "Is that normal?"

"If there's skin on the custard, just poke it with the spoon, or peel it off, or--" Stitches sighs, and just starts eating.

"Look, I'm not the one who loves dicks, so don't look at me," Krem complains. "They didn't have any of your dwarf shit."

Bull starts to hack away with his spoon, removing sections and eating them, then presenting the sculpted remains out for Dorian. "Fixed it." It is certainly phallic, if a little lop-sided. 

Dorian actually _giggles_. "You did! Although if it looks like that, possibly you should still see a healer…"

He decides to try some, because this has been a trip filled with new experiences, and sometimes it's better if you just get stuck in. And… OK, that's… not what he expected.

"…It's certainly… heavy. I suppose that helps with the long, cold nights…"

So he has some more. It's better than he worried. And dessert is dessert, especially when accompanied by further wine.

"Oh, my dick is _very_ heavy," Bull agrees, leaning in to take the next scoop on his spoon, and push it to Dorian's lips. "And I will definitely make sure you're never cold in bed, ever again."

Krem meanwhile has definitely made a friend, because the other tavern girl comes over to him, and hands him a small apple with a wink. Krem clears his throat, and excuses himself from the table. 

Bull is oblivious to this, cooing softly at his affianced. "You need more of the creamy sauce, kadan… oh, now you're dribbling… mmm, imagine all the icing sugar in your moustache at the wedding… _damn_ but I'm gonna make the Archon himself jealous of our nuptials… all of Tevinter will turn gay for Qunari when we're done…"

The one thing worse than Dorian and wine is Dorian, _sugar_ and wine. He licks his lips without an inch of decorum, and then – oh, why the fuck not? – turns and climbs up onto Bull's lap, settling into place with ease.

"You should kiss all this sweetness off me," he says, in the worst attempt at an innocent voice in the history of Tevinter. "And then maybe add some more…"

"…you want me to kill 'em both, or just do the merciful thing and finish you and I off instead?" Skinner murmurs to Stitches.

"Eh… think it's about time he had a teenage crush." Stitches pushes his finished bowl aside. "We could start working out which women are into us, instead?"

"Deal," Skinner answers. "As rapidly as possible." And they make a quick escape.

"There's too much sweetness _in_ you to ever make a difference, my dear Vint, but I'll certainly have a taste." Bull puts the bowl down, and one hand is on Dorian's hip, the other pushing under his shirt at the back as he noses deliberately near his lips. "Let me taste my dick on your lips…"

He's too drunk to be very delicate about the matter, but his fat tongue doesn't take any answer but 'yes' as he decides it's fine for everyone to watch him slip in more tongue length than some men have dick. 

"Mmmmmmm," Dorian purrs, arching into the kiss like he's completely forgotten they're in a crowded tavern. Possibly because it's far from the most inappropriate thing he's ever done.

He lets Bull draw the kiss out as long as possible, and then breaks it with a breathy little gasp, leaning in to speak right into the other man's ear, which – given the way he's sitting and the noise level in the room – means only Bull will be able to hear.

"I wonder what they'd say if you ravished me right here. Slammed me down over this table and took what's _yours_ … or right here in your lap, riding you slow and deliberate until you had no choice _but_ to slam me down over the table and take what's yours…"

A soft little laugh. Drunk and inappropriate Dorian may be, stupid he is not. Or… not where it counts, at least. "Or I could sit like this and murmur about all the things I want you to do to me. Tell you in _graphic_ detail all the fantasies I've been harbouring, and all the _new_ ones you're responsible for. Paint a wonderful mental picture for you, and see just how long you can listen to me before you have to carry me off upstairs without a backwards glance…"

"You wear the right robes and you can ride my dick in public all you want, _mage_." It is an affectionate term, though, as Bull starts to nibble on his collarbone, and his fingers push below the belt and stroke just at the start of his crease. Which people will see. Which he doesn't mind one little bit. 

"You want to play chicken? Dorian… how many times have you been offered sex and actually refused? You think you can hold out longer than me? Because… unless you really want to be tortured… you'll be begging to be thrown over my shoulder and into the bed." 

"Oh, I can hold out longer than you think," Dorian replies. "And even if I can't… the consequences will be _just_ as much fun. So it's win-win in both cases, and I _like_ those odds…"

He leans in even further and starts nibbling on Bull's earlobe, swirling his tongue along the edge and stroking along the base of one horn with his free hand.

"Oh, you precious thing… have you ever had a ruined orgasm? Been taken right to the edge, then denied all satisfaction? Have you ever been made to wait, bound and locked away from satisfaction? How long can you last before the blood-loss to your brain makes you dizzy and confused?" Bull hitches one knee onto the newly-vacant chair, which spreads Dorian's legs wider around them, displaying his crotch very blatantly. 

"There you were… making me jealous… I don't care who you fucked before. They're in your past. But you _don't_ fuck anyone now. Maybe I should put you under lock and key. You are my captive, after all. Fill you up, then slip a plug in to keep you ready. Knot around your balls. And a cage around everything, so you couldn't stray if you tried… I _love_ sex. But I can use it as a weapon, and you – my dear kadan – will find a battle you can't win…" 

"I've had a lot more than you might think," Dorian purrs, though he's trying to hide the obvious shudder of delight at the other man's words, along with the rising urge to just flat-out _beg_ to be carried off to bed. "And as for the rest, I am _eager_ for new experiences, and one day soon you're going to have to make good on these delicious promises of yours. Cover my body in that intricate ropework you say you favour, so I look even more _stunning_ than I usually do. Make me come – or _not_ come – when all I can do is lie there helpless and _hope_ you'll be merciful at the end…"

He shifts position slightly, because his robes _do_ hide how aroused he's getting, and he wants to make sure Bull can feel it.

"Hold me down and _conquer me_ until I swear I'll do anything you say. Or stroke me slowly whilst you tell me all the ways you'll punish me if I come, and then keep going until I can't hold back and have no choice but to doom myself to all the torments you have planned. Or… let me show you why magic-using slaves are the _highest_ prize in Tevinter, and just what the _really_ talented ones can do…"

And now he leans right in, so his next words are directly into Bull's ear again; a soft breath that's heavy with _lust_. "I am _yours_ , after all. You should make good use of me."

"And what do they do to slaves in Tevinter who misbehave?" Bull asks, and reaches a hand under Dorian's robes, pushing under the slashed neck to find a nipple and _twist_. "Flogging? Or something worse… should I brand my heraldic sign over your arse, so you have to kneel for weeks, because your arse hurts too much? Or should I treat you like a _saarebas_? Choke you on a chain and push metal so far down your throat that breathing hurts? Only take it out to shove my dick there instead?"

Large, grey fingers slice into dark hair, and Bull _tugs_ his head back as far as his throat will allow, grazing his lips over the bump he reveals. "You _are_ mine. Mine to treat like a princeling, or a slave. Mine to wipe my balls over your chin after I've come in your hair. Mine to finger for hours while I'm reading, barely paying you attention but not letting you forget what you need… I'll use those ropes to hoist you from the ground itself. You won't feel a single one as you fly, you float… and when I _do_ conquer you?"

From nipple to throat. One hand in his hair, the other pushing steadily down on his windpipe. Watching his face from as close as he can focus. 

"…when I _do_ decide to ravage you, with all I have, you'll beg for mercy. You'll tell me you can't go on. You'll tell me it hurts, because it feels so good. You'll tell me you surrender. And I'll tell you: _I've only just started_." 

" _Take me to bed, amatus, **please**_ ," Dorian gasps, his mind actually hazing over at the other man's words. "All of that. All of you. _Please_."

He really is out of it now. And the fact that they're still in public is the only thing sort-of holding him together, because otherwise? He'd be a needy mess on the floor. The images in his head are so graphic, he has to blink to remember they're not – yet – real, and… oh, OK, apparently the lack of air is starting to make everything go _really_ , really weird and wow, that feels even better than a lot of wine, which he's also had, and…

_Yes. Yes. **Yes**_. Whether the words are out loud or not this time, he isn't even sure.

Bull stands – loose trousers very _clearly_ making a tent big enough to fit an Orlesian dinner party in – and flings Dorian up and over his shoulder, trapping his cock against the brace he wears, and slapping the butt which is now proudly displayed to everyone in the room. 

The Qunari clears his throat, and announces to all and sundry. "I am about to take my future husband to bed, where I will remind him why he said yes, until he thinks he should say no, but really he says yes some more. May everyone here find a fraction of the happiness I'm about to show him. **Repeatedly**."

Without waiting for anyone's response, he turns to the wench who seems rather pale. "And to make up for the screaming, everyone gets a flagon of ale, on me!"

Dorian manages not to shout "hooray!" when Bull flings him over like that, but at the mention of ale he does deign to shout, "you can send mine up, but maybe leave it outside the door!"

Because. Sex should not deny him alcohol. He should get both.

Although, even without a hand on his throat anymore, his head still feels _very_ hazy, and he wonders if the room was spinning _that_ much when he was upright…

Bull knows Krem will sort everything out, because that's what Krem does. And Bull has a Dorian to deflower. It counts, right? You do it on the wedding night as well. Lots of flowers. Whole fucking botanic garden in that ass. Yup. 

They have the best room in the house, because Bull insisted before Dorian even tried, and apparently the best room has great security like a moving door knob and lock. Maybe some magic shit to make it fuzzy and wavery? Eh… he puts his free shoulder into said door, to stop it moving, and fumbles until it opens. 

When it does open, he aims to toss Dorian down, but accidentally ends up on the bed with him. Which is fine. Because he wants to be with him. And the door shut on its own (or did he kick it and he forgot? Eh.) Whatever, he's lying with his ankles hanging off the bed, with a red-faced Dorian close to his face, and…

"…think we can do some kisses before we get to the 'ravish you until your ass is polished marble' stage?" Those are the words Bull tries to say, and mostly manages. But Dorian is soooooo cute. With his little nose. And the way his mouth scrunches. And his eyes. And his… him. And he just -- damn it! Bull can't decide if he should snog him, slap him, bite him, or a mix of the three. So he mouths at his nose, and then aims for his actual mouth shortly after. 

Heh. He's so cute. And he tastes all salty and nice. So nice. Why can't he say it? Oh yeah, he's kissing him, and that means you can't talk at the same time. Stupid mouths. 

Mmmmmm. Kissing. Dorian likes kissing. Dorian also likes lying down, because lying down is _good_ , and lying down with Bull is _good_ because Bull is all soft and snuggly and warm. And warm is _good_ because this silly country is _cold_ , and it's only going to get _colder_ , and maybe they should just stay here forever where there's nice food and nice wine and nice bed and dessert named after dicks…

He giggles at the memory, breaking the kiss enough to giggle some more.

"Weird peasant pudding made us… weird," he suggests, intelligently. "Now you're all wibbly. Nice wibbly. But… wibbly. Maybe just lie for a minute before the ravishing… yes… lying still is so good… mmmmm."

"Don' tell me you prefer Fer-mhl'd'n dick to mine… s'better. S'bigger. S'all yours." Bull attempts to prove it by thrusting, but it makes the bed bounce, and then he's giggling as well. "Tastes less cake. Still good."

Bull slips an arm over his waist, pulling him in, and then rests his nose bumping at the tip of Dorian's. So he can look at the cute face, and do the thing where he smiles so much his own face hurts, and goes oddly tingly in the place his jaw goes click, and then sigh some more. 

"I do love you, y'know. When I ask't. I thought I did, and I do. I _dooooo_. And – little little bittle cakes and big, big dicks… and dancing… confetti… foil invitations and canapes and bards and scandal and soft slippers and nice rope and lots and lots and lots and lots of orgasms… mmm… Kadan?"

"Hmmmmm… yeah?" Dorian is drifting off fast. "I know. You… you did the whole cute thing… didn't think anyone would ever do the whole cute thing… and you… you… how'd I get s'lucky..?"

He curls in tighter. Warm. Warm is good. Bull is good. Lying still is good. Yes.

"…I may need to jus' lie here a min't…" he adds, intelligently, and promptly starts snoring softly.

"Doooorrrrriannnnnnn," Bull drawls, around a yawn, jostling him until he mumbles, but probably isn't awake. 

Nose pushed into the hair above his ear, cheeks smushed together as their arms and legs tangle. "…thank you."

And bam. 

The loudest noise from the best room in the house sounds like an entire forest being sawed down. 

Surprisingly, no one complains.


	13. Chapter 13

Dorian comes to.

There's an unpleasant amount of what looks like daylight filtering in through the window, and the sound of hammering on wood, which it takes him a moment to realise is not just inside his own, tortured head.

He tries lying very still in the hope it will all go away.

It doesn't.

" _Vishante kaffas!_ Can't you just let me die in peace?!"

The thudding continues, at what seems like a mercilessly unreduced pace.

"Does no one in this sodding country have any manners? Fuck the fuck off!"

"Dorian… where's the Chief?" comes the disembodied voice when the knocking stops. "It's time to hit the road."

"We're dead!" Dorian shouts back, still refusing to move. "Just go on without us. Remember me fondly. And _quietly_."

"Wake him up. If you want to stand any chance of catching up to that magister you said was so important." Krem is used to dealing with this kind of behaviour, from the tone of voice. "Poke him under the ribs."

"I heard that," Bull grumbles, without moving anything but his lips. "Traitor."

"Amatus, tell your son to give us some peace," Dorian groans, deliberately loud enough for the poor man at the door to hear.

He still hasn't moved even a little, and has now closed his eyes again in the hope it might make the world go away. Rapidly. And, OK, just what happened last night? There was a lot of drinking… a _lot_ of drinking, at some pace, and then…

"Cremisius, did you poison us with dick?!"

"Son, your father wants you to go away, but also tell us what the hell you… ughnnn, why do I feel like I licked a nug's arse?" Bull flings an arm over his eyes, and the other over Dorian. 

"First off, I'm pretty sure I'm older than you. _Dad_. And no, I didn't poison you with dick. You two have been sleep deprived for _weeks_. And so has everyone within a five mile radius. You just got drunk, and passed out, like the boring, old married couple Stitches said you'd be."

"Fuck off," Bull says, and manages to find whatever book is sitting on the bedside table to throw at the door. "Go get them to roast an entire animal."

He does not often have hangovers this bad, but right now he feels like he headbutted a mountain. Repeatedly. Whilst on fire. 

"I'll get you some breakfast, but you do need to get ready. We need to set out."

Bull reaches, finds Dorian's boot, pulls it off, and hurls _that_ at the door. 

"I'll give you half an hour," Krem laughs. "Remember to wash."

"If we just stay here and are really, really quiet, maybe he'll leave us alone," Dorian tries. "We don't need to travel _every_ day. We could spend some of them asleep…"

Where it hurts less. And yes, he realises this isn't actually an option, because of the whole Darkspawn-god-thing, but right now it's close, and imagining it is making him feel marginally better.

But only marginally.

"…kadan?"

"…yes, amatus?"

"Did… did we fall asleep… the minute we got here?" 

Bull asks it sheepishly, still hiding under his arm. And holding Dorian. And wondering if he can just… get Stitches to make the headache go away. He didn't drink that much, did he? 

Also, is he old? He is, isn't he? He got engaged, got shit-faced, told everyone he'd be fucking, then fell asleep.

The groan of disappointment then makes the pain worse, and turns into a whine at the ensuing pain. "Fuck."

"Yes. Yes, we did. And then we slept in, so now everyone knows." Dorian sounds genuinely horrified at the thought. And, indeed, at the part where they were supposed to be having riotous sex and instead fell asleep in a drunken tangle.

He curls in closer. "I feel like something angry and pointy died in my head. And my mouth. And my stomach. This is what I get for drinking cheap, Nevarran plonk! Ugh… just kill me now, it would be kinder."

"I was supposed to do a good job." Bull's voice is plaintive and self-pitying. "Not doing my job right. Ugh… you can't hate me as much as I hate me right now."

Because now he looks like a terribly boring old man, and his head hurts, and his stomach hurts, and… "Fucking Fereldan peasant shit with lumpy custard. Should have baked a fucking pastry. Then I'd have fucked you."

He is vaguely aware that his nethers are still there, but he also feels like if he moved too vigorously that last night's efforts would… move. In a bad way. 

"Kadan. Magic this shit better?" 

"Can't," Dorian groans. "Doesn't work on hangovers. Another punishment from the Maker for daring to have too much fun."

Remembering again that they had been _supposed_ to be having a lot of sex only makes it worse, because now Dorian is vaguely aroused and in pain. And not the fun kind of pain. The bad kind. Definitely the bad kind. And now he's going to be _cranky_ all day.

"Are you going to hate me when we're old?" Bull prises his eye open. "When I can't get it up enough?" If they live that long. He's aware he's being melodramatic now, but he's very upset with how the world is treating him. He did nothing wrong at all, nothing to deserve this. 

"This… I don't _normally_ … I mean…" Oh, fuck. "But, uh, I guess if I wasn't up to it before I just… I wasn't letting anyone down…" 

"Amatus. I could never hate you," Dorian insists. "I'm in love with _you_ , not just your dick. But, _kaffas_ , please don't make me have a serious conversation when I want to die, because I'll probably fuck it up."

He hasn't moved yet. He wonders how long that's going to work for.

"I hate me." Bull vaguely pats at him. "But not you." Apparently Dorian isn't the only drama queen in the relationship, it just takes a near-death-from-dick-custard experience to truly bring it out in the Iron Bull.

Bull rolls, with incredible speed (as in, he moves at all), and lands on all fours beside the bed. "I will… get a basin. For. Washing." 

It sounds like the most heroic quest a man could ever go on. When he can move again. Which will be… eventually. Right now, the carpet is waving, and he squints at it in confusion. 

"Just throw it on me," Dorian tries. "It would be kinder."

He is steadfastly refusing to move. Or open his eyes. Breathing and speaking are just about acceptable, but only because not breathing makes him more nauseous, and speaking is what he _does_.

"Magic isn't worth shit if you still feel like this." Bull somehow makes it to the small (if you're being generous) side room, where there's water provided for the morning. "Risk of possession and all that persecution and you still feel like this."

Maybe the Qunari should just have introduced the south (and Tevinter) to real alcohols. Except they didn't make you feel this bad. Nothing did. 

It's a while later when – very pale in the face – he returns with the water. "Kadan… do you want me to do this?"

"…no, no, it's fine, I can do this, I am a proud son of Tevinter and…"

Dorian opens his eyes and tries to sit up. He makes it halfway and then groans and drops back onto the bed a little over-dramatically, an arm over his face.

"…maybe you should go first. Whilst I… prepare myself. For… moving…"

"You will thank me for this. Maybe not today, but…" Bull places the basin on the bedside table. 

Bull pushes an arm under Dorian's, and hoists him upright.

Bull holds the back of Dorian's shirt, and interfaces his head with the water.

Dorian is still too sleepy to realise fully what's going on until his head hits the water, at which point he screams in shock, narrowly avoids inhaling half the bowl, and starts thrashing wildly.

"You weren't _actually_ supposed to kill me, you monster!" he howls. "Unhand me this instant!"

"As if I'd _kill_ you – except I might if you keep screaming so loudly!" Bull sits Dorian back down again, and then tips the bowl over his own head, and judders as the cold water runs over his skin in piercingly cruel rivulets. "Fuck!"

Bull has the presence of mind to hold out the towel he brought. "Dry off. Krem will have sorted breakfast. You'll feel better when there's meat and grease inside you. Trust me." 

"I will _never_ feel better," Dorian retorts, sullenly, and fights the urge to crawl back into the bed. "I know only pain. And cold water, _thank_ you for that."

He does not sound especially grateful.

"I love you, too." Bull decides if Dorian is going to act like a baby, he will treat him like one. And he starts to towel over his hair to dry it enough for them to be seen in public. 

He is hungry, in that gnawing-nearly-sick kind of a way. First he will want to eat, then not, then he'll feel better, and later probably regret it, too. But if he doesn't eat, he'll regret it even more. 

"Do you want me to carry you downstairs, oh glorious light of my life, all-powerful, self-sufficient and sparkle-making master mage?" 

Dorian glowers some more. "I could forget I liked you," he says, but it's clear he doesn't mean it. "And no. No. At least let me _try_ to pretend I still have some dignity."

Of course, this requires him to stand up. Unaided. Which is harder than it looks, and _should_ the room be spinning like that?

Bull offers his hand, and then leans in, asking for a kiss. "Well, I still love you, even when you're like this. So I guess you really are stuck with me forever, kadan. Even when you fall asleep in your boots and drool on my tits." 

"You were all soft and warm," Dorian says, his grumpiness mellowing a little at the sentiment, and the kiss. But only a little. "And I was tired. And drunk. More drunk than usual."

"You were adorable." Bull tugs him into his chest, and hooks him under his chin. Big hands rub over his shoulders and upper back, trying to ease wakefulness gently back in. "And you were celebrating getting engaged to the best Tal-Vashoth Thedas has ever seen. And I will make it up to you, just as soon as I can." 

Which has to be a lot later on today, if even then. "…it isn't just about the sex for me, either, you know. Amazing as it is. And… I did have fun, right up until we woke up…" At which point the happiness loan shark turned up. 

Dorian holds on. The hugging helps. It doesn't fix the hangover, but it is lifting his mood a little. "You have nothing to make up to me," he says. "It was a wonderful evening. And we can get to the wonderful _night_ part soon… not that we haven't had quite a few already."

He sighs. "Come on. Let's go and face breakfast before I try to climb back into bed again."

"Well, make up to both of us." Bull is willing to concede that much. "After all, I remember a certain Altus having very, very interesting ideas…" He kisses his still-damp hair, and then slides his hands down to find Dorian's. 

"Yes. Breakfast. I want to aggressively bite on sausages in front of people in an emasculating fashion." And coffee. Lots of coffee. And fruits. And anything they'll put in front of him. 

"I remember a certain Tal-Vashoth having a few of his own…" Dorian replies, smiling now, and – before they can get distracted – they head down in search of breakfast.

***

Sausages help. So does oatmeal. And cheese. And coffee. And juice. And bacon. And everything Bull shovelled down his face at the table, glaring at anyone who looked too happy. 

Now his belly is sufficiently full and heavy, and that dampens down some of the nausea and swimming feelings in his gut. He doesn't feel great, but he at least feels able to stay on the horse and not fall asleep in the saddle, or throw up on its neck. 

The swaying motion of his mount's gait is just on that cusp between soothing and aggravating, and if he tilts his hips just right, he can prevent it going too far either way. Enough to stay awake, without being violently unwell. 

Dorian also does not look happy, though it's a different kind of unhappy from other times he's been unhappy on a horse, so it's okay. Probably. Probably. 

"So, was the _vallaslin_ the same as the--" Stitches starts asking, then clamps his mouth shut at the expression on Skinner's face. "I'm going to go with 'none of my business'."

"That means all three of us with an elf in one night." Krem nods, sagely. "Bingo."

"You can't call 'Bingo', I didn't join in." Bull is not impressed by this, not in the slightest.

"You don't count, Chief. You're practically married."

"I only _just_ got engaged!"

"He's right," Stitches jumps in. "You're off the score-card now. Leave it to the young blood. And we can't disturb your beauty sleep…"

" _Ebatot tal-eb noms_ ," the once-Qunari rumbles. "Fine. Leave me off the score-card, but last night was a one-off, and if you think any of you will get any sleep tonight, you can think again." 

"Besides, we probably need a scorecard of our own," Dorian adds. He's been quiet for a while – rarely a good sign – although in this case it's mostly because the less effort he expends, the more likely he is to stay conscious. He will be _very_ grumpy if they don't find another inn by nightfall, though, because tonight is not a night for camping.

"I will fill that card so fast you'll need to invent whole new categories." Bull turns to offer a sultry look, apparently distracted from his discomfort by the prospect of perversion. "And I have a lot to make up for."

"You do know you don't have to have sex every single night, don't you?" Stitches shuffles in his saddle. "I'm aching just thinking about it."

"So is Dorian's butt." Bull winks, and then wishes he hadn't moved so much. 

"Also, just because you don't _have_ to have sex every single night doesn't mean you _shouldn't_ ," Dorian points out, trying to sound like a man with a lively sex life – which is true – and not like a man who wishes he was unconscious right now. Which is also true.

"And I'm not talking just once for f---"

"Chief, we _get it_ ," Krem cuts him off. "You don't need to prove your masculinity to anyone. We're happy, we are. We just… maybe we'll stay at an inn down the road after we all go to bed. Then we can sleep, if nothing else."

Bull considers this. It seems a reasonable compromise. "Dorian needs the nicer place."

"We want the cheaper wenches, so: deal." Krem nods. 

"I hope those wenches are treating you right, young man," Dorian says, in what is obviously meant to be a fatherly tone. "You meet some strange folk at these places. I don't want you getting your heart broken."

Krem's brow wrinkles. "…break my… uh…?"

"We're the 'strange folk', kadan." Bull tuts amicably enough. "And if Krem ever needed it, we'd bust faces and--"

"Chief, you do _not_ 'bust' wenches' faces! Buckles… would you say the same thing to Stitches?"

"Of course," Dorian answers. "I care about all my weird, adoptive children equally! And all right, yes, most of you are _older_ than me, I know, but how is it my fault if my future-husband wants a hot young boytoy? I must assume the role life has handed me."

"…right." The awkward, sullen tone shows Krem was thinking something else. 

"Krem… Dorian doesn't think of you differently, do you?" 

"Differently?" Dorian says. "Why would I? Except for the part where you're _clearly_ my favourite, but don't tell the others that."

A little sigh, because he's realised what the other man is _actually_ getting at now, and he can feel the pain behind it. "Certainly not for any other reason. You can be sure of that. I know what it's like to feel _contrary_ to what society thinks you should be, and I know enough to tell you that society can go fuck itself. And if anyone tells you otherwise, I will _gladly_ light them on fire for you."

Krem looks away. "Right. Sorry. Not fair of me, it's just… when people usually ask that, they mean… you know. 'Did she freak out'." 

Bull offers a weak smile. "And then you tell them 'by round three, she sure did'." 

"Don't apologise," Dorian insists. "Just don't want you thinking I'm as backward as many of our countrymen. But I meant it about the fire thing. Or ice. I can freeze them in ice."

"If he freezes them in ice, then you can smash them into tiny bits and jump on them." Bull says it dreamily, smitten again and thinking of all the beautiful ways to combine Dorian's magic and his axe. And feet. And fists. And…

"Chief… three is just getting _started_. I'm sorry _your_ Vint can't keep up." The smile Krem offers says he's happy to put all that way, way behind them both. 

"Remind me again why I can't send you to your room?" Dorian says, more grouchily again. "You should respect your eld– er… _kaffas_. Amatus, tell your son to behave!"

"He's your son when he's misbehaving."

"Nice. Just like my real parents."

"We are your real parents. And if you want to know, three is _not_ the--"

Stitches chooses now to intervene. "Guys, hate to interrupt the… scores… but I think we have company."

He's not wrong. Several unscrupulous-looking individuals have detached themselves from the shadows just up ahead, and they don't seem like the sort to let you go after a brief discussion on how you should open your heart to the grace of Andraste.

"Tell them to go away," Dorian grouses. "My head hurts. If I warp the Veil with a hangover, it will make the pain worse, and you'll all have to put up with me."

"Did you hear my very dangerous mage future-husband?" Bull stands up in his stirrups. "It would be best if you either turned around and went away, or just dropped dead without the fight. You aren't going to win and I doubt you have much worth us hunting you down for."

"I don't think they'll buy it, Chief."

"Hey, no one can accuse me of failing diplomatic methods, now."

Dorian sighs. "Anyone who doesn't want to be set on fire, leave now!" he tries shouting. Shouting makes his head hurt.

It seems like the small bandit group doesn't have any mages, because the first thing that happens is a volley of arrows. Followed by the melee fighters charging. 

Swords are drawn a heartbeat later, and Bull glances to Dorian to check in, just before he hoists his axe (wincing, ow, ow) and kicking his horse to charge in, too.

"You should have just fucking _died on your own_!" he snarls, and prepares to remove one head from the associated shoulders on his first sweep. 

One of the really unsettling things about dating a non-mage is that they don't instinctively stay at range when attacked. And yes, that makes sense if your principal weapon is, say, a broadaxe, but it does make for a weird flicker of concern in the stomach of those watching.

Dorian fights down that concern as best he can, lifts his staff from where it hangs alongside the horse, and gives it a twirl. And _oh_ , but it really is exquisite. He can _feel_ the craftsmanship.

A flick of the free hand springs his barrier into life, and then the air goes _hot_. A wall of fire lances out of the ground right in the middle of the group of bandits, cutting them off from each other and making at least a couple howl in shock (and hopefully pain). And then, whilst they're distracted… fireballs. Because _everyone_ loves a good fireball, yes? To the face?

Jolly good. Several in quick succession should do the trick.

Bull simply wishes he was feeling better at the start of this battle to truly appreciate it. Both as an excuse to indulge in non-gratuitous violence, and an opportunity to witness Dorian's expertise first-hand. He does, however, quickly perk up from the adrenaline and survival instinct. He'll _pay_ , later, but he'll be alive to do it.

Unlike the bandit whose head is currently sliding meatily off his axe-head, bouncing and rolling one way, while the body crumples to its knees. Or the one he smacked so hard in the ribs with the hand-grip that it made a hissing noise as the wood shattered a rib and punctured a lung. 

The horse is in the way, so he yanks the reins, pulls the head down and to a halt, and slides over the animal's neck to continue running without any break in his pace. 

Bull is vaguely aware that the other Chargers are taking down more of them – quickly – and that the remaining bandits start to reconsider their life choices. As more magic flares from behind him, he knows Dorian is safe, and so he goes after the biggest, burliest guy and roars in his face right before the man expires. 

Dorian has dismounted by this point too: he can _do_ horseback magic just fine, but you don't get the _best_ out of your staff unless you've got both feet on the ground (on account of all the twirling). He advances a little, keeping at range but wanting to be closer to the fighting (possibly this is so he can watch a certain someone) and to the… resources.

Death is not the end when there's a necromancer on the field.

One of the first bandits to go down suddenly staggers upright in a whirl of purple light, eyes glowing, and turns on his former comrade with nigh-on gleeful fury, getting a _howl_ of horror from the man in question.

"Fireballs were the easy option!" Dorian calls out, not keeping the _irritation_ from his voice at being forced to do this with a headache. "Now you're in for it!"

Bull whoops in delight, as the response from the other Chargers is more muted and surprised. "That's my kadan!" 

The last one of the lot looks ready to throw up when Bull gets to him. He grabs him by the front of the shirt, and lifts. And lifts. Until they are eye-to-eye.

"Are you the only bandit group in these parts? And don't lie to me: I'll know."

The man shakes his head, no. 

"And if I should let you run away with your tail between your legs, you'd be _warning_ them, rather than recruiting them, wouldn't you?"

A nod, then a shake, as the man tries to keep up.

"Ordinarily I would just kill all of you sorry lot. But my kadan has a mission, and so I can't be wasting my time with trash like you. Understand?"

More nodding, and possibly the sudden wet patch on the bandit's trousers is spreading. 

"Run along, then. And don't forget."

The poor fool races off as fast as he can, stumbling and falling after only a few steps but picking himself straight back up and keeping going like his life depends on it. Because it does.

As he's disappearing off into the distance, Dorian moves closer to the others, letting the resurrected corpse drop back down with another wave of the hand; purple light fading as he goes.

"That was bracing," he remarks. "Everyone all right?"

"The hell was that?" Stitches asks, nodding at the dead-again body on the ground. 

Bull flicks his axe away, one-handed, solicitiously approaching Dorian to check on his status, too. 

"Necromancy," Dorian answers. "It's a thing I do. Comes in handy, no?"

He's aware that a lot of people find it unsettling. He is not one of those people.

"You are genuinely messed-up," Skinner says, though from the look in her eyes, she's not as unhappy as her tone would suggest.

"Thank you!" Dorian replies. "That means a great deal, coming from you."

"Do they – are they – do they feel anything when you do that?" Stitches peers at the body. "I take it you don't bring them actually back to life, like… healing them?"

"It's… handy. But weird," Krem decides. 

"It's _hot_. Not the dead guys. The part where Dorian can _do_ it," Bull clarifies. 

"You mean in a metaphysical sense?" Dorian says, with a smile. "No. The soul is gone, but the flesh remains. And is… useful. So unless you incite a spirit to possess the corpse, it only lasts a short time. Usually enough to make the former person's associates void themselves and run for it, though."

A tilt of the head. "Healing, I can also do. Not my strongest school, but this is still _me_ we're talking about."

"If they're gone, then… I guess it's okay." Stitches seems satisfied with the answer, and bends to clean his blade on the shirt of one of the fallen aggressors, before moving to empty the pockets of valuables. 

Bull claps Dorian on the shoulder, and tilts his neck to look down. "You said you _couldn't_ cure hangovers. Are you _sure_ you tried hard enough?"

"Ooh," Stitches says. "…elfroot…"

"Trust me, I tried," Dorian replies. "I drink a _lot_ , remember? Imagine how much more I'd get done if I never had hangovers…"

Maybe he should work on that again, next time he's bored.

He leans into the hand on his shoulder, though. He's not used to having someone who he's genuinely concerned for alongside him in battle, and whilst he's well-aware that Bull is _very_ good with that axe of his, there's always risk.

"The cure is not drinking," Stitches says, finishing up the scavenging (including, apparently, botanicals). "But you refused to listen to me when I suggested it."

"That is not the cure. That is a worse affliction." Bull slides his hand down to the small of Dorian's back, but only to that point. He's not flirting, he just wants the closeness. 

"As I said."

Krem and Stitches are the first to mount up, followed by Skinner. Bull cocks his head. "You lot check the path is clear. We'll be along in a moment. Don't go finishing any fights without us, though."

Dorian waits for the Chargers to set off before he turns to Bull. "Amatus? You all right?"

Beyond the thumping headache, obviously. His is worse now, on account of the magic… but it was so very worth it.

"Yeah." Bull runs the knuckles of one hand over Dorian's cheek. "Wanted to see if you were, too. And…" The hand on his back moves to take his mage's hand. 

"…they do care about you, you know. They aren't always the best at showing it. And… thank you. For… caring about them, too. They're good kids. And they'll give you everything. And… it just… seeing us all fight together…"

It sort of snapped things tighter in his chest, and he looks so incredibly, incredibly fond and touched. Bull brushes his nose to Dorian's, just wanting to be close. "It felt right, kadan. I just… didn't want them listening in to _that_. They intrude enough as it is, already."

That makes Dorian smile, closing his eyes for a moment. "I know they're good," he says. "They're your people. That's all I ever needed to know, but the rest just proves the point. And I _do_ enjoy fighting alongside you. Maybe next time we can do it in slightly closer quarters…"

He has spells that improve battle prowess, after all. Also it would look _really_ impressive.

"When you don't reek of hangover, and I don't think I might accidentally smack you with my horns?" Bull pulls, and puts Dorian's hand on his hip so they can just… stand for a moment. His head still hurts, but that helped a lot. 

"Can keep a better eye on you that way. Make sure you're not getting overwhelmed. Maybe grab your butt…"

"I rarely get overwhelmed in combat," Dorian replies, easily. "Fire is such an excellent deterrent. But I wouldn't pass up the opportunity to be close to you."

Speaking of which, he moves in even closer, resting his head against Bull's chest. It's definitely the best he's felt all day… so far, at least.

They hadn't had time to be soft before. Rudely awoken and then even more rudely put on horses. Bull knows they have to saddle up and catch up with the others, soon, but he needed a moment just to be… this.

He combs through soft, dark hair and breathes in the scent of it. Stale alcohol, distant sausages, battle-echoes. And under it all… Dorian. His Dorian. He hums in low approval, and sighs. "Alright, so I shouldn't worry so much. But I'll get better at that. I managed today, and you _were_ damn hot. So if you're closer… I get to see it closer." 

And the cooling muscles after his exertion and the slow, slow-down of his racing heart… the relief and joy of surviving, and of experiencing such a rush of action… He squeezes tighter. "Let's get to that inn, and kick the rest of them out. You gave me all sorts of new things to fantasise about, just then. Not the necromancy shit – that can stay out of the bedroom, and on the battle-field… but the rest?" He whistles through his teeth. "You're required. In my bed. For the rest of forever. No questions, no right of appeal."

"Oh really?" Dorian says, with a smile. "And what will you do if I protest, hmm? Throw me over your shoulder and carry me off..?" From the look in his eyes, this will not be a problem.

"I'm intrigued about these new fantasies, however," he adds. "What is it about me setting a bunch of bandits on fire that's got you all hot and bothered..?"

Possibly he is a bad man. Possibly he doesn't care.

"Throw you over my shoulder, put my hand over your mouth, even if you bite me… the whole works." Even if the tone of voice is incredibly fond, and Bull's pretty much cuddling him right now. He's eager, but he's also tired, and he doesn't want to use all his remaining energy just yet. "Just don't bite my fingers _off_. I need a few left… I have things I like to do with them."

Bull kisses the tip of an ear. "You're a badass, kadan. You want to tell me you don't like seeing me swinging my axe in a show of prime virility? That you don't like me sweaty and bloody and just as strong as you?"

His hands move lower, grabbing under his butt and lifting up and in. "Can't decide which I like the idea of more: throwing you down in the middle of all our slaughtered enemies, or you being the one remaining after a battle and me throwing you down then…" More nuzzling. "Maybe first time is when I capture you. Second is when you've broken and sworn yourself to my blade… and my _blade_ …" 

Dorian cuddles in closer at that – gentle cuddling and talk of violent sex go together _perfectly_ well, thank you very much – with an even brighter smile. "I _love_ watching you fight," he answers. "How could I not? You may think I'm a force of nature – and that's fair – but you're one too. Just of a different kind. Plus I know what you're like when you get all fired-up…"

He shivers. "You should do that. Wait until I'm _exhausted_ and my mana is depleted for the moment. I'll still _fight_ , of course, but I won't stand much of a chance…"

It's probably best they don't do it near any _actual_ corpses, however. Mostly because he's likely to raise at least one out of sheer devilment when it's least expected, and somehow he doubts Bull will find _that_ particularly sexy. He's not _Nevarran_ , after all.

"Make you tire yourself out, using my Ben-Hassrath skills… make you panic and use your power… and then sweep in--" which is when Bull moves, lifting Dorian rapidly, and throwing him face-down over his horse's back. And slapping his ass as hard as he dares. 

"Get yourself to the inn. I haven't fucked my future husband yet. And as I went to all the effort to hunt him down and capture him…" 

Dorian gasps shamelessly at that, and part of him wants to incite the other man not to stop. On the other hand… he _would_ like to reach the inn. They have beds. And wine. And less _nature_.

He can't ride like this, however, so he has to sort of slide as gracefully as possible back _off_ the horse, before turning to mount it properly. Which is slightly _awkward_ when you are now very turned on.

"You did do that," he agrees, in the process. "In fact, technically-speaking, you _are_ still my captor, given that you never formally released me. So perhaps I should run for it…"

…he says, pointedly not going anywhere until the other man is ready.

"I didn't. But I _did_ give you the key. Which means… you chose to stay." Bull smirks, and turns (giving a very good view of his ass and shoulders), to mount his own horse with very deliberate gestures. 

"If you lost the key, that's your own fault. I'm not giving you another." 

Dorian actually still has it. Very little of what he had before the _incident_ has made it this far, but the key was tucked away securely and he managed to retrieve it from the clothes he'd originally been wearing after he finally came to at the safehouse. He's now got it slung on the same chain around his neck which holds his family amulet – and thank the Maker he didn't lose _that_ , either – but he only did it yesterday, so Bull hasn't seen yet. Because this is the longest he's gone without getting Dorian's clothes off since said aforementioned coming-to.

"I didn't lose it," is all Dorian says for now. "And you're right. I _did_ choose to stay."

He smiles at that, deliberately turning his hand so the ring on his finger catches the light. He chose to stay, all right. And then some.

That goes all the way to Bull's dick, and he's suddenly forgotten he was ever, ever hungover. It's amazing what a spike of arousal can do to a guy, and he sits taller in his saddle.

"Inn. _Now_. You better be prepared for two nights' worth of post-engagement _ravishing_ because I do _not_ plan on letting you sleep until you come so many times you're desiccated." 

Dorian looks pleased. "Oh, amatus, you always know what to say…"

And he urges his horse straight into a gallop, deciding that the sooner they catch up with – and overtake – the others, the better.

***

"…why would anyone call it a 'roly poly', though, I mean why did they think that was a--" Krem's horse whinnies, interrupting his tirade as a pounding of hoofs churns the grass.

"Buckles?" Stitches pulls his horse into check, looking back to see the Iron Bull hot on his trail, but no obvious danger. 

Dorian is riding a lot faster than a man still nursing _that_ much of a hangover has any right to. He catches up with them surprisingly quick, but doesn't stop, calling out as he nigh-on flies past.

"Can't stop, inn now!" he says, hoping they'll hear enough of it between them to understand. "Have fun with your wenches..!"

And… he's gone already.

Bull is barely a moment behind. " _Nehraa kadan!_ Krem, get the drinks in: I have a mage to hunt!"

"…I should have known we just needed a good fight to get them back to normal," Stitches grumbles.

"Why do you think I picked this path?" Krem replies, slyly. 

"Oh, you tricky one!"

"Can't have a grumpy Chief. Ruins everyone's mood."


	14. Chapter 14

By the time Dorian makes it to the inn they're heading for, he's practically giddy. He's going to suffer for this tomorrow – more so than usual – but right now he _really_ doesn't care. He waits just long enough for Bull to catch up, so he can leave the man to stable the horses whilst he goes to arrange lodgings.

The innkeep gives him a rather suspicious look – which is sadly typical when you're blatantly a Tevinter mage – but seems more than happy to accept his coin, and happier still when Dorian asks if they have any rooms in external buildings. Even if they cost more. Which it does, but that's fine, because it's his _delayed_ engagement night.

And he doesn't want to have to worry about all the screaming.

It turns out to be a nice room, too. Large. With a fireplace, and an annexe with bowls of freshly-drawn water for washing. And a _very_ robust-looking bed.

"Huh," Dorian says, looking at it. "Maybe this is the place they keep for the obvious deviants…"

No matter. He knows he's a deviant. He embraces it.

Bull is only a few moments behind, once the horses are entrusted to the stablehand under strict instructions to treat them to the very finest of feed. They deserve it. 

Also, he's feeling generous and expansive, which is why he nearly kicks the door off the hinges, and looms in the frame.

"Oh, there's that troublesome Vint mage I've heard so much about…"

_Fuck_ , but he's hot when he does that. Dorian tries to keep his delight hidden, but it's not as easy as he would like.

"Troublesome?" he repeats. "Me? I'm sure I don't know _what_ you mean."

They can't exactly have a full-on _duel_ right here, and he knows it. But… that doesn't mean he can't make his hands glow somewhat. For effect. Call it mood lighting, if you will…

"You know you shouldn't go running around letting everyone know you're _Saarebas_ ," Bull replies, cocking his head to get a crack out of his neck, flexing his abs as his hands come up just slightly in a braced position. He steps in – slightly circling – making the threat in his posture clear. "I can't let you go about spreading your _poison_."

One foot crossing in front of the other, looking for a weak spot, a moment of blindness. He feints just once, then carries on, never dropping his gaze for a moment. 

"Surrender, before I'm forced to take you down."

"As if I'm going to surrender to the likes of _you_ ," Dorian throws back, his tone summoning every drop of the magister-in-waiting he's technically supposed to be. (It's a useful tone, when applied correctly. He's confident he'll get _exactly_ what he wants from it this time).

From the other man's stance, and his movements, apparently they _can_ have a full-on duel here. Or a partial one, at least. Dorian makes the decision to switch from fire to ice, though, because he doesn't want to have to be the one to explain to the innkeep how they burned the building down.

Plus, variety is the spice of life.

He circles too. His heart is _racing_ , but it doesn't show.

"Then you'll hit the ground even harder, and dine on dust for the rest of your life, _freak_." Bull knows the word is hurtful, but so will be whatever he gets in return. He also knows Dorian is sure he doesn't mean it, or they wouldn't be playing in these roles simply for the thrill of it.

(And only a little part of him worries it will sting too much.)

Bull's foot suddenly drags backwards, because Dorian is on the woven rug, too, and Bull's planted leg is not. He tugs the floor from right under him, and then pushes his weight to one side as he lunges in, aiming to smack Dorian's shoulder with his horn. 

Dorian will kick himself later for falling for something so obvious. Even if he technically _wants_ to lose – because it's the point – he still wants to make the other man work for it.

He staggers, and then reels at the blow, barely keeping his footing. A curse under his breath, and then he lets loose with the magic, hurling a swarm of ice-shards at Bull. They _could_ all be razor-sharp, but as he's not trying to kill the man, they aren't. This does not mean they won't hurt.

"We'll see about that, _savage_ ," he throws back, with what might just be a growl.

The sting of cold is vitalising and refreshing, as is the pain that follows a moment after. Bull's heart pounds harder, and so does his dick. Fuck, but he loves this idiot so much! He shakes the worst of it off, then grabs for the wooden chair, hefting above his head with one hand, swinging it down towards his mage's head.

He knows he's far too good to be taken down by simple peasant furniture, but the point is to _play_ , not cause real harm. And if a few bits and pieces of wood end up on the floor, they'll just pay for them. "This savage will show you that you're nothing without your _demons_."

Chair gone, Bull lunges in, arms out to tackle his waist and try to power him to the floor. 

"Only those without sufficient power of their own make deals with demons," Dorian retorts, which is a mantra he's had since he was very young. If you're satisfied with your own strength, you're so much harder to tempt.

And he must always resist temptation. Always. Otherwise…

…no…

The second's hesitation is just that – a second – but it's a massive chink in his armour, and when Bull slams into him, Dorian isn't nearly braced enough to resist. And down he goes, immediately trying to lift his hands to defend himself even as he's still reeling from the impact.

"And what if I'm your demon?" He's grabbing those wrists, shoving them over his head with enough force that really resisting would cause injury. "I have the horns. I have the _things you can't say no to_ …"

Bull has him where he wants him in almost no time, straddling his hips to use his weight to hold him down, grinding into his groin, smirking ear to ear. "I'm the one you'll make any deal I ask for."

"I've _seen_ demons," Dorian points out, through the heady rush of realising he's _caught_. "And you're not one. But even if you were… I won't give you _anything_."

Even pinned, he tries to push back, but unless he _really_ lets loose with the magic, that's not happening. So… he really lets loose with the magic, slamming upward with a wall of force designed to throw the other man off him. Because, this time, he's making the fight _good_.

Bull holds on for dear life, but the minute he realises it's going to cause injury to Dorian's wrists (actual, painful, dangerous injury), he lets go and manages to land in an awkward crouch. 

If it wasn't Dorian, and it was a real fight, he'd have let the mage potentially dislocate their own wrists, or deglove them, but he has no interest in that. 

Instead, he grabs at Dorian's ankles, intending to disorient him by flipping him over, twisting them to throw his weight. "You'll give me _everything_. In fact, you'll _beg_ me to take what you offer." 

Dorian has barely managed to scramble back to his feet when Bull goes and does that, and he hits the floor again a lot harder than he would like. His self-preservation instinct kicks in enough to make him try to use the momentum to wrench free of the other man's grip, but even if he does, he's cornered and he knows it.

"I won't," he insists, voice heavy with defiance. "And you can't possibly make me."

"Keep telling yourself that," Bull purrs, his own voice sultry with promise and thrill as he climbs up over calves, using his weight to pin him down. "Keep saying it, maybe you'll believe it…"

Bull ignores the flailing, focusing on using his bulk to climb up the shorter man's core, bearing down on him, folding an arm over the back of his neck. "You've wanted this since your prick first wet the sheets at night. You've wanted this before you even knew what it was. You've _wanted to be wanted_ and you'd do **anything** to belong… even to a savage like me. _Especially_ to a savage like me, who can give you everything you crave…"

"And what could you possibly know about the things I crave?" Dorian replies, though his voice is shaking a little now. Especially as he knows that, this time, he's not getting back up.

He still tries to struggle, though, because he's not in the mood to simply _give in_ , and because he's still trying to make the other man work for it. And… possibly chasing the consequences.

"I _know_ you, _Saarebas_. I know all about you." One hand twists his wrist up and between his shoulderblades, and Bull keeps the other arm across his nape, so he can nose along his hairline. "I know you better than any demon could. I see those dark, hungry thoughts clearer than you can see the trees in the daylight…"

He shifts, aligning his crotch to Dorian's ass, pushing in but not rubbing or thrusting. "You reek of it. Your fingers claw at the world, wanting, craving, _needing_ it. You tear a hole in the room with your longing." Teeth nip on an earlobe, sharply, and then Bull uses the hand that had been on his neck to grab a knee and yank it up and open. "It seeps through your pores. You _stink_ of hunger. Your eyes dilate. Your heart quickens. Your mouth salivates. You _need_ this."

" _Oh_ ," Dorian gasps, at the rough treatment, and at the words. The words that would see far, far too much, coming from anyone else. The words that in many ways still _do_ see too much, but he knows it's OK when it's him.

"You k-know nothing," he manages, the tremor in his voice matching the one in his body; bent into an awkward position that he can't fight. "You can force me, but… you can't make me want…"

The hand under his knee slides up, and up, and roughly, harshly paws at the thick, hard cock trapped in Dorian's trousers. "I don't need to make you. You _already_ want." 

Bull shoves him down, hard enough that the pressure on his rib cage will wind him for a moment. Just long enough to slip out a belt, and wrap his wrists together. The leather bites in, not so tight that circulation is cut off, but enough to leave welts. 

Then there's the metal sound of a knife, and the ripping noise as Bull starts to slice the fabric of his trousers to shreds, to bare his ass and groin. "You only lie to yourself, but it's the only way you keep going, isn't it? To ignore that yawning pit inside, because you know it makes you _vulnerable_. Know it makes you _weak_."

Dorian closes his eyes, fighting the urge to beg for mercy, because that urge _is_ still there, even though he _does_ want this. **Badly**.

"You think I _want_ to be ravished by an arrogant brute from the north?" he spits out, as convincingly as he can manage. Which isn't very. "How very _base_ of you."

His treacherous cock says otherwise, though. He's already so hard it nigh-on hurts.

"Let's see what your body says." Bull grabs hold of the bound hands, and stands. He hoists upwards, meaning Dorian is over-balanced and held up by his wrists. A few moments more, and another belt leashed around the frame at the bottom of the bed has Dorian kneeling, shoulders forced up and behind, and on the floor.

Bull kneels, too. He grabs Dorian's throat, and forces eye-contact (straining his neck). Then looks down at the red cock poking out from the remains of his ripped clothes. 

"If you didn't want it, you wouldn't climax, would you?"

"R-responding to physical stimulation is not the same as wanting," Dorian gasps. Which is technically true… but he's not fooling _anyone_ with that tone.

The position hurts. It _hurts_. His arms are shaking from it, and part of him wants to surrender right now. He knows it wouldn't stay the other man's plan, but at least he wouldn't invite further retribution. But… he doesn't. And it isn't out of devilment. He wants to know what will happen if he keeps resisting; if he makes Bull push him over… whatever edge it is inside his head that isn't just about pleasure.

"Well. When is it ever different? It is _always_ stimulation. Physical. Mental. Emotional. How can you ever say it isn't wanted?" 

Bull asks, knowing it's a question that plagues him at times. He always goes to lengths to ensure consent, and always has. Negotiated, discussed, with clear routes out. He would under no circumstances do this if he didn't believe Dorian wanted it, and also that it wouldn't be damaging, even if he did want it.

But the question is… still pertinent. 

How does he define it? Where does the line cross? He knows what rape would be. But coerced consent, that hadn't first been agreed? 

He licks a finger and thumb, and pinches the tip of Dorian's prick, tugging, and squeezing. Just the very, very tip, Watching his face, watching his reaction. "Is it when you dream about it before it happens? Is it when the mention of it makes your breath speed? How do you name it, when someone wants to be _made_? It's a paradox, little one. You can't force the willing, even if they're willing to be forced. It's just _want_." 

Dorian's eyes roll back at that. He can't stop it. He's already so overwrought with _need_ that his body just takes over, protesting his mind's refusal to submit. He can't help a moan of pleasure, either, though he tries; biting his lip in an attempt to stifle it.

"T-then why don't you stop toying with me and prove it?" he gasps, that traitorous need getting the better of his tongue, too.

He needs. He knows he needs. He knows he _wants_ , too. Knows all of this is tripping something deep down in his head that's been there… a long time. Precisely how long, he isn't sure, but the more he tries to think about it, the more it feels as familiar to him as his own skin, or the sound of his own name. What it means to let it out, though, to let it be seen, be _known_ … that's something else entirely.

"Ah, _Saarebas_ , toying with you is precisely the point. I already know the answer. You already know the answer. Now: I'm just doing what I want to keep myself entertained. You go a _delightful_ colour when you're frustrated. Like the sun bleeding over hot sands as it sinks into the night…"

Bull swirls a blunt thumb over the tip, and pushes into the meaty head, then makes a tight circle to twist to and fro over the flared head. He ignores the rest of his length, the rest of his body, using only one sharp, focused point of stimulation. 

"I like to watch your jaw tighten around the noises you are afraid to make. I like to see your shoulders tense. I like to know what _control_ I have over you. I like to see what I **own**." 

No more than just the fingers and thumb of one hand, not even letting him have his palm. He tweaks, twists, tugs. The hint of a nail underneath, and then a death-vice before it's whisper-soft. 

"Show us both how little control you have over your own body. If you manage not to scream, and not to spill… we'll know your mind rules your body. If you don't… you're nothing more than a beast of burden with a clever tongue."

That hits Dorian harder than he'd like to admit, and – coupled with the torturously not-enough stroking – it's pushing his mind _down_. He closes his eyes again, turning his head away, suddenly… vulnerable. But not surrendering completely. Not yet.

"Do your worst," he says, though his voice is barely more than a whisper. "Undo me, if that satisfies your urges. But I won't give in. You won't get that."

He will. There's no doubt in Dorian's mind. The question is how, and when, and what it will be like when it _really_ happens. Perhaps this is more than just advanced hedonism. Perhaps _that_ is what he wants to know.

"Such pretty lies. Such wicked falsehoods. Your tongue can tell all the tales it wants… but the truth is written in a bolder hand, beneath it all. It's in the beating of your heart, in the tides of your blood. In the wind of your breath…" Bull can read all these signs, and – worse – control them. Urge them, orchestrate them, like a conductor before the ensemble. He knows how, and – worse – _enjoys_ it. Enjoys controlling others. 

Especially enjoys controlling this one. He breaks so beautifully. He aches so brightly. He needs so fiercely. And Bull knows he can meet those needs, can be… needed in return. A hand inside a glove, a sword inside a sheath. Made to connect, made to be home. 

His fingers don't go faster, and instead his other hand moves to simply bend under his balls and jostle them lightly. He won't give him the deeper stimulus, because it isn't about getting off from sheer force of touch, or ferocity of sensation. It's about a much deeper, more personal connection.

"You will give in. Again, and again, and again. You will think you've given me everything, and I still won't be satisfied. I'll demand more of you, and you'll be sure there's nothing left to give… but I won't stop. You'll yield more… but I won't stop. You'll plead with me just to _take_ it. To force everything from you. And I won't. Stop."

He rubs one finger in sure circles, behind the balls, pressing up into his pelvis. Still nothing but those not-enough touches. Still that, and the words spoken against a turned-aside cheek. 

"Even when you think you've given me everything, I will want _more_. And you will never know there's more to give, until I **demand** it." 

Every word is like a knife to the gut, albeit a knife that Dorian can't stop craving even as it hurts. He can't look back, can't let the other man see the confliction in his eyes; the terror, anger, need, lust, _love_ intermingled until they're indistinguishable from each other. Until they just _are_.

" _Please_ ," he whispers, like he's on the verge of breaking. He's not even sure what he's asking for: whether he's begging for mercy, or for Bull to do everything he's just said. Possibly both. "I… I'll… please…"

_Anything_. He won't say it. Not yet. Not whilst he still has a choice about the matter. But… he is terrified. Not of the other man. Certainly not him. No. It's… something inside.

"I know you will. I've always known it, and so have you." Bull does, with all the certainty of a thrown rock finding the earth. Dorian craves, and Bull aches. Dorian needs, and Bull burns. His whole mind is alight with the dance of it: undeniably erotic, and more arousing than any touch that's ever met his skin. 

A call, an answer. A need, and a resolution.

Still those light touches, still no harder, no further. Playing on the edges of his nerves, coasting his body on the shocks of pleasure. "Look at me." The demand-request-demand is simple, firm, and brooks no refusal. 

Dorian still tries to refuse for a moment. A long moment. But… he can't. The words tug at him like invisible cords, pulling him to the other man, pulling him to obey. He turns his head – slowly, yes, but he does – and lifts his eyes.

He looks high as a kite. Higher, even. He knows he does. He also knows it will be utterly impossible for the other man to miss it. And that's partly why he's resistant to obey, because it's something else betraying him. Something else rendering him completely unable to hide the truth.

" _Please_ ," he whispers again, and now he really _is_ begging.

"What are you asking for, kadan?" He needs him to say it. To acknowledge it, to himself. It's what Dorian needs, after all. Bull already knows it, through and through. 

His voice is… to say 'softer' would be to deny the sheer power and gravel in it, the grit, blood, bone and storm-front fierceness. But it is checked, bound, held in by the finest, thin-spun web of control. 

He grips the head of his cock, knuckle bent behind his sac, kneading into the gland inside and milking it firmly. "What is it you _need_?" 

That's a complicated question. Dorian needs a great many things. But what does he need right _now_? That is… simpler. No easier to say, though, and he can feel his mind pulling at him to resist, to refuse, to say _anything_ except the truth.

But the other man's will pulls at him too. And he knows it's stronger.

Dorian bows his head, because he can't maintain eye-contact for this. He drops his head and shuts his eyes, as if he could somehow hide from the words, even as he says them.

"… _break me_ ," he whispers, biting his lip again. "Need you to… to… show me what it's like. Show me that… that I can take it…"

"To do that, to truly do that… no words would make me stop. You understand, don't you?" Bull moves his hand from Dorian's taint, gently requesting his eyes again by brushing over his cheek. It is not something he is prepared to do without the full impact being known. 

"If you have a way out, it isn't real. You have to honestly, truly be beyond any way to escape. I need you to understand, before I begin. The only time we will stop is when I believe you need to. You will trust my judgement above your own. If you do not agree, now, we go no further into that, today. If you do… then you are surrendering yourself entirely to my hands." 

Bull is sure he can do it, and even that he should. But it still needs to be what Dorian agrees to, in full awareness. Admittedly he's not completely in sound mind, but the minute they started this game tonight they both knew that. "There is no shame in not being ready. If we do this, it is for _you_. Not because I need you to."

Some part of Dorian wants to say no. Not because he doesn't trust Bull – he does – but because the thought terrifies him. The reason he fantasises about losing control is because he knows, in reality, how dangerous that would be: whether that's losing control to a hostile agent, or losing control of _himself_.

_Fire made flesh, and a demon asleep_. That's what an old proverb says of mages. And whilst Dorian doesn't hold with the southern Chantry's insistence on suppressing those fires until they fade or explode, he knows all too well that his gift is dangerous. That _he_ is dangerous. That he skirts the thin edge of destruction every day, and every night, and the slightest wobble could be his undoing.

It's one of the key reasons he likes to do things that make him feel out of control. Partly for the thrill: the act of doing something dangerous, or _fantasising_ about something dangerous, heightens his awareness of the risk. And partly… it's to remind himself that even drunk, or angry, or in the throes of passion, _he is still in control_. Not of anything or anyone external, oh no. Of _himself_.

And yes, they're not talking about a magical surrender here. There's no risk of his power hurting anyone. There's no risk – beyond the mere fact of his existence – of attracting demons. But somehow, it feels just as dangerous. It feels as though he _is_ making a deal with a demon. Just… a demon of a different kind.

Perhaps he needs to. Perhaps that's the point.

"All right," he says, softly, not looking up until he says those words. "All right. Yes."

"You are safe with me," Bull says, as his thumb softly draws over a cheekbone. "You trust me, and I will take complete control… and _care_ of you." The two go hand-in-hand for him. You do not do one without the other. "You will hurt. You will struggle. It will not always be pleasant, but: _you will be completely in my control_." 

It's a promise he needs them both to hear. It is not pain qua pain. Not simply screaming for the sake of screaming. It is something else they need, and that something… is indelibly bound into one. 

One tiny, feather-soft kiss to his lips, and then Bull pushes their foreheads together. "I have you. I own you. I own _all_ of you. I **know** you. And I will _rule you_."

The hand on his dick moves rattlesnake fast, suddenly beating over him with merciless determination to make him reach climax. It's fierce and fast, and the other hand is behind his neck, then, shoving his head down and stretching him against the wrists still bound behind his back to the bed. 

"Forget any hope of leaving here unless I will it. You are my _slave_." He uses the word very deliberately, considering Dorian's upbringing. Very, very deliberately. "You can fight. You can surrender. You can scream. You can yield. None of it matters… the only thing that matters is what I decide happens next." 

Dorian is smart enough to know that fighting for the sake of fighting would be a _monumentally_ bad idea now. Any resistance that comes out of him has to be instinctive, has to be unbidden, has to be _necessary_. If it isn't, then _is isn't_.

And that _word_ hits him like a punch to the gut, and he knows precisely why the other man has used it. He _is_ very familiar with the feeling of being in control. He _needs_ not to be.

His heart is racing so hard, it's a wonder his chest isn't vibrating visibly.

He doesn't speak. For probably the first time in his life, Dorian Pavus chooses _not_ to speak. He has no idea if that's right, or wrong – probably neither and both, at the same time – but the simple fact is that, for once, he has no idea what to say. He cries out at the pain in his arms, though, because pain is pain (and it hurts), but there's no coherence in it. Nothing but raw emotion, and plenty of that.

" _Good boy_." Pride rings through his voice, as Bull works faster, twisting his hand on the way down, chasing twitches of hips and sounds of pain and want. "Good boy. Fight. Don't. None of it matters. You don't matter, except for what I want from you. Let go. Nothing you could say or do will change a thing now. Nothing."

Bull pushes harder on his neck, making the mage's arms scream at the edges of his flesh as he puts his body to its limits against the leather and metal holding him back. He jerks his cock with tight, cruel strokes, and says nothing else. 

Nothing but the sound of two men breathing, and the rustle of flesh on flesh. Thud, thud, thud. His eye scours over Dorian, drinking in every drop of this for his memory here on in. It's a good sight, and it makes his cock twitch harder still. He's going to enjoy this immensely. 

That rough, rough stroking is pulling Dorian dangerously close to the edge, and even with the counterbalance of the pain in his arms and shoulders, he knows he won't last long. He also knows that's the point… but is he supposed to hold back for as long as he can? Or let go straight away? Or… ask permission first? He hasn't been told one way or the other. Or… he has, but… hasn't?

It's going to be difficult not to second-guess this, not out of devilment, but because his mind works too fast, and he can't just _stop_ thinking. He knows that from experience. Even when he's full-on _wasted_ , he's still sharper than most would be. On the other hand, he needs to _not_ second-guess this, because that means he's not surrendering properly. Or… does it? Or..?

The sad fact is, he's _more_ than capable of torturing himself. So with his mind and Bull effectively tag-teaming him, he doesn't stand a chance.

Surely his best option is to take things at face value. As much as he can, until _that_ gets folded back on him too. But… it's a start.

Which is the reason _other_ than the rough, rough stroking why he comes after only another moment; not resisting it in the slightest. The pleasure of it is undeniable, and he can't help a soft cry as it tears through him, but underneath it all is a pervasive sense of dread about what comes next.

Bull grunts, and gives no further obvious indication of his feelings any which way. He lets go of the sticky cock in his hand, and swipes the goop across Dorian's lips. 

Then he stands, and pushes the waistband of his loose pants down enough to let his own cock spring out over the top. He grabs Dorian's hair and holds his shaft to his lips, before pushing his head down over it. 

He doesn't need it, really. Or: he enjoys it, certainly, but it's not as if he'd be suffering if he didn't get off now. But it will help his focus to be pleasantly buzzed, so he can take his time on other things. 

Plus, a wrecked Dorian, all glassy-eyed, full-lips and bound up like this? A lovely thing to watch his dick disappear into. Bull doesn't let him do anything classy, or show off any skills, he's simply holding his head in place to thrust past his mouth and into his throat. He's a hole, and Bull wants to fill it, is what his actions say. 

The silence is oh so very, very deliberate. He knows Dorian will fill it, will keep on filling it, until he's depleted all the words his head can still form. You don't need to speak to be heard, or to make your point. Sometimes the silence is more powerful. 

Dorian's mind doesn't run quite so fast when he's doing this, because he has to concentrate on things like breathing, and not choking, and anticipating the other man's movements so as to best accommodate them. Not that he has much choice. He wishes he had a little scope to move, though, if only so he could actively give back, rather than just _taking_.

But he guesses that's the point, too. He can't even service the other man, can't… what? Prove his worth? Maybe. He wishes he could.

His arms ache. His shoulders ache. His knees ache. There are many different kinds of pain, and they're a lot more complex than a type and an intensity. It's not just 'aches a lot' or 'burns a bit' or 'feels like knives in his flesh'. No. There's so many layers to it: what it reminds him of, how hard it is to bear, how eager he is – or isn't – for it to stop. And all of it slowly but constantly changing hue, until he's not sure what feels good and what feels bad and what he'd beg for release from and what he'd beg for more of. Pain is complicated. _Pleasure_ is simple. Good, oh yes, but simple.

His mind is still racing. His mouth is still taking. And the silence is like repeated slaps to the face, getting sharper and harder with every blow.

Bull's hands are large, and he laces his fingers behind Dorian's head, aware of the size difference as he watches his cock vanish past those glossy lips. 

He's so… so… It stings. To watch him like this, with the layers stripped off. They aren't there, yet, at the bottom of them all, but he knows they get closer each time. And tonight, he intends to peel as many back as he can.

Dark eyes, normally-pristine hair mussed with sweat. The glistening trail of his own seed smeared across his upper lip where Bull hasn't let him clean up. He looks ravished already, and so hungry. Not just for climaxes, but for everything.

For praise, for reassurance. For punishment and absolution. For a place to belong, and a place to put his own anger and hurt. He's so brim-full of all the things he's seen, and been, and done. It threatens to over-spill with every word out of his mouth. Every pinprick of light captured in metal or gem. Every flick of a wrist, or toss of his head. 

There is so much of him, and so much of it is spun around like a magical shell of concessions, accommodations. Of subdued real needs, and fearful compromise. 

Bull knows there's a lot more at stake than simply a damn good fuck. And he knows Dorian trusts him, wholly. And he knows he must be worthy of said trust. 

Everything is a conversation. Everything. Bull braces him, and then allows himself to reach his own climax. He wants to get the edge off, so he can focus, and he watches as Dorian fights to swallow what he's given. "That's it… good. Good. I'm only just starting with you, little slave. Drink it all down. You're going to need the energy." 

Dorian takes, and he takes. Ordinarily, he likes this part, because it's so very _good_ to know you've made your partner feel such pleasure. And usually, he'd feel pleased with himself – whether smugly or just in genuine satisfaction – to have gotten to this point.

And OK, yes, he _is_ still glad, because he loves Bull, and wants to make him happy. But… it isn't like it would be, normally. He didn't actively _contribute_. He was useful, yes, but… no more than that.

It stings, in a weird way. And that awareness is doing something equally weird to his mind that he can't quite pin down yet. It's also something that he can't resist, so whatever it is, it's going to get stronger. Or more prevalent. Or… something.

He can't even pull back, unless the other man lets him. And that's… heady.

When he's fully spent, and Dorian's swallowed enough down, Bull takes a half-step back. He pulls his cock out, and then tucks it away. Makes a contented noise, and cracks his neck and shoulders. 

That will help him focus.

He doesn't talk, again. Slices through the belt that tied the looped wrists to the bed, leaving them together, but no longer lifted up. Then puts a finger under his chin to insist he rise up to his feet. 

Bull strips him. Clinically, almost, in how his hands tug at points and unfasten at others, slicing enough of cuffs to get the final parts from near his wrists. The fine clothes end up in a tangled, vibrant mess on the floor. 

Leaving Dorian standing in the entrails of his own outfit, his own mask. Bull pushes his head up again, then tilts it side to side, examining everything. Examining the… his finger slips under the chain around Dorian's throat, lifting it up. "What's this?" 

The attention makes Dorian shiver, and he doesn't quite raise his eyes. That's deliberate too. He's heard enough stories about slaves in Tevinter who get treated like this on a regular basis – _without_ being asked first – to know that deference is a good idea.

But that question…

"My family amulet," he answers, and damn, but his voice is shaking. "Or… do you mean… the key?" It's still there, after all, hanging on the same chain. "The key… you gave me that first night, in the forest. I kept it."

"Good." Bull is… touched by that, and he lets it show in his voice. "One offer of freedom, and one… padlock, closed around you, to keep you from being free. Fitting." He lets the two drop, and smack Dorian's chest. The only things he's still wearing being his jewelry, adorning his neck, his hands. 

"Turn around. Shoulders planted on the bed. Feet spread, shoulder-width apart. You know the drill, don't you? You've been in that position often enough. Offering your body to the first one who would take it."

Bull folds his arms across his chest, waiting for Dorian to move. And it isn't about the fact he's had sex: Bull wholeheartedly believes people should, if they want to, and the other person(s) want to. It's more about the reasoning behind his behaviour, and the things he was seeking that weren't just a few minutes of fun. 

And how he's annoyed that Dorian ever had to seek those things from other people, and how he wants to be the one to take that need away, or to satisfy it. At least for a while. 

Instructions are good. Instructions are clear, and they make sense, and even if they're difficult, they at least give Dorian something to do that he feels confident about. So he does as he's told, moving into position and trying to remember to breathe when he's in it, and goes still.

He doesn't know what the other man is going to do to him. He has a few ideas, yes, but not enough information on which to base an educated guess. Although, given that they've both come very recently, he suspects it _isn't_ fucking his brains out. Or, certainly not yet.

He still doesn't dare speak without a direct question, and the silence _bites_.

"As you belong to me, now, you won't be able to let others touch you. I will not allow it… unless it pleases me to. And I will mark you, so the world knows you belong to me, and me alone." Bull's words are slow, and sure. He paces to one side, then comes back. 

The first tip of the lamp and splash of hot oil is unannounced, but it's quickly followed by a trail that draws a crescent shape between his shoulders. Horns, of course. Bull keeps the lamp high enough that the heat isn't excruciating, and the skin won't blister, just redden under the soon-cooling fluid. It is more for the shock, and the message than the actual 'branding'. If he wanted permanent marks, he'd make them. 

"If you attempt to engage with anyone in ways I deem inappropriate, I will later punish you. It is for you to work out what _is_ appropriate for you to do. And for me to judge if you were correct." 

Bull knows full well that Dorian is a flirt, and also that it's harmless. But Dorian also needs boundaries, and some of them are there to be crossed, to then be reinforced. A safe place to rebel, and to be reassured that it won't ruin things, and provoke a reaction he's needing. 

"Do you understand?"

Dorian cries out as the oil hits his skin, taken aback by it, and trying to coast the wave of shock that comes before the wave of pain. It hurts – of course it hurts – but somehow the surprise of it is worse, and he has to focus to hold his position, so as not to fuck this up.

He really, _really_ does not want to fuck this up. He knows on a deep and complicated level that he needs it, though he's still wrestling with the full explanation as to why. He also knows that Bull enjoys it, that it's about more than just satisfying the need deep in Dorian, even though he'd never so much have mentioned it if his ridiculously-good intuition hadn't told him that Dorian wants it too.

And Dorian likes to think he's doing a reasonable job of both taking, and of behaving, which is why the other man's next words come as a massive, massive problem.

If Dorian was thinking straight (aha), he'd know precisely what's going on here. That it's about giving him safe ways to rebel when he starts craving the consequences. That it has nothing to do with genuine questions of trust, or of loyalty, or the implication that his previous sexual exploits mean he's not capable of monogamy. His sensible brain knows this.

The trouble is, he's somewhat far removed from his sensible brain right now.

"I will swear any oath of loyalty you ask of me," he starts out, and that's true. He wouldn't have agreed to marry the man if it wasn't. "I would never betray you. Never cheat on you. But… you don't get to change who I am."

"No. I don't. And no one had the right before, either." Bull's hand comes down over the back of Dorian's neck, but it's not threatening. At least, the gesture is soft and the thumb stroking in the dip below his ear is. 

"I did not mention cheating. If you cheated on me, our relationship would be _over_. You do not lie to me. I do not lie to you." Bull speaks calmly, but there's an undercurrent in his voice that speaks of much more. "It is not about the presence or absence of others. It is about the _trust_. If you set out to deceive me, you do not respect me. And that is not what a relationship should be."

He won't do anything further, not right away, not until this is cleared up. "I have told you my intentions. You act as you see fit. If I disagree, there are consequences. This is not about _hidden_ behaviours, or infidelities. **Those** are not acceptable in any way. _These_ behaviours simply come with costs, which you understand you will need to pay. You are who you are. I am who I am. And together, we are something greater."

The hand on the back of Dorian's neck makes him shiver. It's hardly the most intimate place you can touch someone – especially with just a hand – but something about it goes right through him. He closes his eyes, biting his lip again and trying to get his brain to think in something resembling straight lines.

It is not easy.

"All right," he says, and the hesitancy in his voice isn't born out of disagreement, or resistance, but a simple fear that he's going to screw this up. Which is not a feeling he's usually prone to. "Yes. I understand."

He desperately hopes that he does.

Bull leans in, a tiny kiss to his cheek. "You can be who you are, kadan. All of who you are. And that includes your need to _fight_ and _rebel_. It is **you** I love. You asked me to give you what you need, and I will. Even if you don't understand it… I do."

His hand lifts, and Bull goes towards the door, where he stashed a bag when he came to the small annexe. He drags a chair closer, and puts the bag down, where Dorian can't see. His hands work over things, rustling and unclear noises, and then he puts a hand between Dorian's parted legs, pulling him a little further back from the bed, and angling his hips where he wants them. 

"It will come with time. You will regularly be unsure, or feel fear. You _need_ to feel those things. You need me to show you them. And to show you those things your eyes skip past."

Clever hands pass the rope he's retrieved around his waist, forming a belt of their own, and then pass between his thighs, framing his groin in an open-laced harness. More loops pass around his upper legs, with the knots cinced snugly against bundles of nerves, and the places muscles knit to bone. "You can question my rules all you wish, but you will be held to them. They will not change. This will not change. We will not change, simply… deepen."

His fingers glide over the ropes, ignoring his skin, making him feel the touches remotely. He tugs at them to ensure they're solid and sound. 

_That_ is not what Dorian expected either, and he's suddenly lost in the feeling of the rope against his skin. It's very much something he's fantasised about in the past, but never tried, and he's admitted that, hasn't he..? And… he's starting to realise that Bull has clearly been planning this. He's _also_ starting to realise what it means to be with someone who actually _listens_ to the things he says.

The possibilities are immeasurable. The risks even more so.

There are words on his lips, but he can't quite say them. _What if I fail you? What if I'm not strong enough? What if I can't handle it?_ Too much time inside his own head makes all his insecurities bubble to the surface, skirting past the walls he normally uses to keep them at bay, and out of sight.

He does trust Bull, though. He does. He wouldn't have agreed to this, _asked for this_ , otherwise. He just… needs to find a way to make that be enough.

But he doesn't trust himself to speak again yet – and, it's worth pointing out, he is very, _very_ sober at this point – so he just gives a little nod, wanting to acknowledge the words without overstepping.

"Good," Bull praises, his voice level and certain, and so very, very fond. He takes one ankle and bends the leg until heel rests under ass, and starts to weave a pattern of knot-line-circle around the thickest part, keeping the leg where he wants it, preventing Dorian from straightening it, but letting his hips still flex. It'll be important, later.

He does one leg, then the other, so the man is totally resting on his chest, hobbled and unable to easily escape. His fingers know what they're doing, and he pushes where he knows will cause the most sensation. The knots to finish off leave an open circle around his cock and balls – far too loose to cause any problems – but a knot right below the balls to press up and in. 

Then Bull puts a knee between those spread legs, slides one arm under and around Dorian's chest, and hoists him up onto his knees, balancing on them and only not toppling because he's fallen backwards into the broad chest supporting him. 

"You will be angry. You will be afraid. You will be sure I am wrong. You will want to run away. You will do anything to avoid what I will show you." Bull trails his fingers over his chest, zig-zagging between nipples, glancing over his navel. "You will fight. You will be sure I will hate you. But I will not. You need to know that _you_ don't need to change. You need to know that I _know_ you, and I will not turn away from you. That there is nothing in you that I do not cherish, accept, love. Even the spiteful parts. Even the destructive parts. Even the parts you wish weren't there."

One hand under his jaw, pushing his head back, as the other works another length of rope around his throat. He knots it quickly, and it's secured so it won't tighten further, because Bull has no desire to accidentally throttle him. Any pressure to his throat he wants under his complete control. 

Every inch of Dorian's skin feels utterly hypersensitive now, and every movement sends sparks of sensation rushing through him; some pleasant, some less so, but all of it incredibly intense.

He _is_ worried he's going to fall, though, but he manages not to do anything other than gasp softly when Bull catches him. The contact helps, too, but at the same time he feels so desperately _vulnerable_ , and he has no idea how to process that, because any of the things he would normally do simply do not apply here.

He hasn't really thought about the possibility of making the other man hate him. He's never been in a proper relationship before, so getting to that point with anyone else simply wasn't an issue, because one or both of them would be long gone before it mattered. Plus, the lack of any real emotional investment meant that nothing could ever be strong enough to sting for long.

But this… this is different. This is _love_. And Dorian may not have been in love before, but he's seen plenty of people who were. Seen the heartache, and the damage; drunken wrecks throwing themselves at any vice they could in order to numb the pain. Love is dangerous. Not bad, not wrong, but dangerous. And, now that he thinks about it, Dorian _is_ worried about making the other man hate him. He's aware he is _difficult_ to like, because he is who he is and he says what he thinks, and doesn't just toe the party line like a good boy. And that isn't for everyone.

Maybe part of this is that he needs to push and push and see the other man _not_ hate him. To prove it's possible.

"Show me," he whispers, and it's a gentle plea, not anything stronger or untoward. " _Please_."

"I will, kadan. I will. Every day until we die, I will." There's passion in Bull's voice, and it isn't simply lust-fuelled, either. His arms wrap around the body leaning back against him, making sure he feels the heat and security of his embrace. Dorian needs it, needs to know it is there. Unconditional, and unwavering. 

Bull more than understands. 

The last section of the harness is simple, and it winds around his upper torso, spread like cut gemstones and holding tight like a hug that doesn't fade. Bull makes sure he holds Dorian's weight as he finishes the karada, and then settles again to support him and stroke over the intricate ropes that twist and turn over his blushing skin. 

It is more beautiful to him than any clothing would be, because each knot is placed on purpose, with thought and intent. Each line follows the ones of the body beneath, form and function combining. It is a ritual to work the pieces into place, and his touch lingers through the connection. Bull presses Dorian back against his crotch, making it evident he's enjoyed this very, very much. 

"There are many ways to break a man. It is almost too easy, if you know how. You can push the body beyond the limits of pain…" He digs his fingers into a squeezed, fleshy area of thigh. "…or any sensation…" His other hand running circles around a nipple, at the same time. 

"You can make pleasure twist into agony… flood the body with impulses until it cannot process any more… find the point before the mind shuts down, and _press_ until you beg…"

Bull runs his tongue over Dorian's throat, just above the rope collar. He isn't done, but he wants Dorian to process those concepts, first. 

" _Oh_ ," Dorian gasps, as the two sensations hit one after the other. Neither one should be particularly intense, but somehow they are. Maybe it's the mental place he's sinking into, or the rope, or the edge to the other man's voice that does things to him he's not prepared for.

"I… I… ah…" he starts out, but the words die before he can say any more, and he's not even certain what they would have been, had they gotten out. His mind is back to racing and he genuinely has no idea if he can do this. He wants to know, oh yes, but the thought is terrifying, and becoming more and more real by the second.

The rope is stunning, though, and it feels even better than he imagined, and he can't help hoping they'll be able to do this in less-intensive settings as well later on. Because… it feels like something he might want to do a _lot_.

"Ah, kadan… those are just parlour tricks. The Qun had one thing fundamentally right. A person is not just the body… the _Arishok_ … it is also the mind. _Arigena_. You can break and bend a body… you can push… pull… smash… rip…" 

Each of those words, right by his ear. Dripped, one after the other, turned somehow into promises, sultry and heady.

"…but that is only the start, a crude start. The next step, the middle step… is the thoughts. The voice. The mind."

Bull's hands withdraw, and there's more movement. His torso holds Dorian up, but then there's things happening with the rope. Eventually, he climbs off the bed, and Dorian's held upright suddenly by the harness that is shored somewhere. 

Shored, but there's a grunt as Bull starts to tug on the ropes he's run over the room's low-beamed roof. He levers and pulleys, and the rope at Dorian's shoulders stays in place as the one Bull passed through the waist harness starts to rise and elevate him, face-down, suspended a few feet above the bed. 

"You can break a man by your actions, your words. You can flay him open to things he wished hidden. You can leave him alone with only his own mind, with all else pulled away. You can rip open the cocoon of lies he lives in, the lies that the world puts in place, or accepts… make him look all the way inside to see who he really is…"

_That_ makes Dorian cry out in very real shock, because he doesn't see it coming until it's happening, and then he's fighting back a second cry as his body tries to adjust to the sensations, and the _pressures_ criss-crossing his skin along every line of rope. For a moment he's convinced it's too much, but he starts to adapt faster than he might have expected, breathing through the worst of it and then calming enough to settle.

At least… physically. Mentally, he's aware that he is now _completely_ helpless, and that puts a very different kind of pressure on him. And it's a much harder one to adapt to, especially considering the other man's words.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasps, in equal parts arousal and terror. "Fuck… I… you… you don't have to… I don't… I can't… I… _fuck_ …"

Bull isn't touching him anywhere, the only connection the rope that circles and holds him aloft. He circles around the bed, his eye raking over the details, his ears ringing with each plea and broken breath. 

He lets Dorian fill the air with his words, and lets his mind echo with the words as he admires him. So strong, powerful, brave, witty, wise, beautiful… and tortured. Even before Bull met him. Tortured, damaged, battered, and still fighting. 

Bull can't help but love him, and love seeing him like this. He basks in the emotion that floods the room, and the thoughts that are so damnably loud. His own hone in, razor-sharp, and utterly, utterly determined.

"You have forgotten what I was, kadan." 

He doesn't move, or say anything else, letting the words hang in the air between them. 

Longer. Longer. This is his magic, this is his sphere of control. 

"You have forgotten who I am." 

For a moment, Dorian is going to insist that of course he hasn't forgotten. He knows who the other man is, and what he does, and what skills he has, and he wouldn't have agreed to any of this if he wasn't aware of that, and what it means, and…

…and…

Except something about Bull's tone sets off a little spark of thought in the recesses of Dorian's brain. Something that makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck, a prickle of fear that goes far deeper than any of this already has, as a tiny screaming voice suddenly makes itself heard in the cavernous silence of his usually-crowded mind.

Dorian _does_ know who the other man is. He knows, because he was told, from very early on. Because Bull admitted it, shared it, _confirmed it_ , and Dorian took that knowledge in… but he never questioned it.

_Hissrad_.

_**Liar**_.

What if he… what if this… what if _all_ of this..?

"…don't say that," Dorian manages, his voice breaking. "Don't… _please_ …"

"No. You have _forgotten_. Or perhaps, _bas_ , you simply do not yet understand." Bull reaches out a finger, and touches one of the ropes. He pushes, and sends the suspended body swinging, slightly.

"They called me Liar. They called me Spy. They were all wrong, because I served the _Ariqun_. They may have used me for those ends, but in reality: I have always been a priest. A priest of the third part, the deepest part. The **soul**."

Lightning-fast, his hand grabs hair, pulls Dorian's head up and back and round to face him. "You can break a man's body. You can break a man's mind. But only the very, very clever can break a man's _heart and soul_. The part that _feels_. And do you know the ways to do that, kadan? Not pain. Not thoughts. Not words."

" _Don't_ ," Dorian begs again, and this time he sounds desperate. Like he's gripped by very genuine panic. This would be because he is, and it is not a feeling he's accustomed to. Even the damn templar only made him feel panic once, and that was when the man was _literally_ trying to kill him.

This can't all have been a lie, a trick, a long game. Can it? Dorian's mind races for as many examples from the last few days to prove him wrong, dredging up moment after moment of bliss, joy, _love_. Anything. _Anything_ , to dispel the thoughts gripping his mind; thoughts which suddenly seem so horrifyingly plausible.

"…but _why?_ " he gasps, searching for an answer like a drowning man searching for that last pocket of air. "Why would you? I'm not… I'm no use to you…"

"Ah, _Dorian_." He looks strangely… torn. "You break a man's soul with the very thing it is made of. Touch the body. Talk to the mind. _Feel_ the soul. Hate. Fear. Anger… love. Each can only be reached by its equal…"

His fingers tighten, and he's rarely looked as terrifying as he does now, even when blood-drenched and battle-ready. 

"How I break you? Is to love you. _All_ of you. Because you have never been loved before, and so your soul aches for it. You think you must _deserve_ or _serve_. That if only you could be smarter, prettier, more skilled in magic… if only you could do this better, or that… then you would be enough… Hiding any perceived flaw, any longing. Sure that if you just do _enough_ then you will be wanted…"

Bull touches his forehead to his mage's. "I break you. When I tell you: You _are already enough_. You are **mine** and I am **yours** , and there is no need for 'use'. No need for 'worthy'. You _are_."

Dorian's mind can't process all of this. It can't. He can't. He's so far out of the realms he can comprehend that it's as if he's looped back on himself, like some weird landscape in the Fade; impossible and yet somehow there.

"Is this real?" he whispers. "Or… did you only ever want to break me..? I… please, just tell me. Do whatever you want to me afterwards, but just… tell me."

And there's his self-destructive side. The trouble is, he's not consciously acting out. Not even close. In his head, all of this is completely up-front and genuine.

" _Kadan_." His one hand taut, the other moves to swipe over one cheek then the other with his thumb. "To break you, I must first love you. And when you are broken, you become free. You become _you_. You see who it is I loved, all along."

Bull walks around, until he can put a shoulder under Dorian's, then closer to take the weight of him across his chest. He lifts him, so the ropes no longer take the strain, and then his knife cuts through the ones hitched to the beams. Both arms around him, cradling his bound body to his torso. 

The Iron Bull sits on the bed, and holds Dorian there, helpless and trussed. His hands knead gently, and he rubs their cheeks together. "Yield, kadan. Yield. It is safe. You are safe. I have you. I love you. I have you, and I will never leave you. Never betray you. Never. You don't need to hide anymore. You don't need to fight. Just. _Be loved_."

Just how out of his own head is Dorian right now? He thought he knew. Perhaps he doesn't. He's very taken aback by being suddenly cut down like that, and he can't help leaning into the comfort because he _needs it_ more than he could possibly say.

"I… I don't… I said I'd give you anything… do anything… and I will. I yield. I yielded days ago…"

He did, didn't he? That night in the forest. Bull could have done _anything_ , but he didn't, and Dorian understood what that meant. What it still means.

"No, you haven't. You've given me your body. You've given me your mind. But you haven't yet given me your soul, because you haven't learned enough of it to do so." Bull cradles the back of his head, and rocks him, very, very gently. "You haven't given me everything, because you haven't accepted me, yet. As you haven't accepted _yourself_. You can't, until you are certain that I see all. That I love all. That you _can_ be loved."

Very slowly, Bull leans back. Dorian is still against his chest, and he takes them both down flat onto the bed, He's still holding his head in place, as his other hand runs a finger over the stark, rope lines. 

"I can see your fears, and it's time you did, too. Come, kadan. Give me the final part. Let me all the way inside of you, as I let you inside of me." Because it is. It has to be both ways, at least it does for Bull. He shows what he wants to show, to whom he wants it to be seen. But there have always been boundaries, and limits. Polite limits, but there all the same. 

Not with Dorian. He's never shown anyone his full hand of cards, or his true motivation. Not until now. " _Maraas shokra. Taashath. Taashath. Ebasaam kadan. Kost. Kost. Katoh._ "

"I… don't know what more I can give you," Dorian whispers, still lost. Still so very, very afraid. "I've given you everything… promised you _anything_ … let you see things I never showed anyone else… and I don't… I don't understand what more you want."

He doesn't. It's clear from his voice, from the terrified look in his eyes, that he's not acting out of rebellion. He genuinely doesn't know what more he can do, and he hates not knowing, because it makes him feel powerless in a way he _doesn't_ enjoy.

"Just tell me," he begs. "Just tell me, and I'll do it. Or I'll tell you. Please."

"I told you." Infinitely patient, is the tone of Bull's voice. Infinitely loving, as he kisses Dorian's cheek. "You were afraid. Afraid this was a lie. Afraid I did not love you. Afraid I _could not_. And if it takes the rest of our lives, I will break that thing inside you which tells _you_ lies. Which hides the truth from you."

Bull snaps open the small bottle from who knows where he had it, and then there's a single, slick finger trailing around Dorian's hole. "I will touch you, hold you… hour upon hour. Day upon day. If that's what it takes. If that's what it takes to reach _you_. Don't you understand, kadan? I offer _you_ everything, too. This is who we are. This is _all_ of me. So in love with you that I forsake the Qun. So in love with you that nothing matters but your happiness. So in love with you that I show you _my_ hidden self. Kadan…"

That's when his own voice breaks, suddenly, chokes on the emotion. "Kadan. _Please_. Trust me. Trust me to love you. I _need_ you."

Dorian's eyes roll back at the finger, so utterly hypersensitive and needy that he instantly feels as though the other man could undo him with nothing more.

"I do," he whispers, heartfelt. Frightened, still, but… starting to accept. "I gave you everything. Told you everything. I've never loved anyone before. I… I have no idea how to do it. I just know that you're already wound so tightly into my heart that losing you would kill me, and being with you makes me finally feel _right_ , and… and I _do_ trust you, of course I do, I wouldn't be here if I didn't, and I don't know what more proof I can offer of that other than _being here_ and wanting to stay…"

"Then why would you ask if I lied?" It's clear Bull is hurt, and clear it's hard on him, too. "I've never loved anyone before, either. I've never been… losing you would destroy me. Knowing you think I might _be_ that…" 

He's supposed to be in control. But right now, who he is is so entwined with who Dorian is, who he needs, what he thinks, feels, does… Bull has always been able to understand those around him. It's just who he has always been. But it's never hurt like this, and it's never been this desperately urgent that it _works_. 

"I have never lied to you. I will never lie to you. I am not what the Qun wanted me to be. I am _me_. I am what _I_ decided. And I decided on **you**. Let me show _you_." He slips a second finger in, on the edge of too fast, needing the physical to match the emotional. To match the thoughts, the words. He needs all three to be in balance. He needs it all to be right.

Why did he ask? Dorian's so out of his own head that he doesn't even know. He just knows the very idea terrified him… and that's not because of any danger the other man might pose to him. No. It's because nothing good ever seems to last in his life, and because he _knows_ he's at least partially to blame for that. Not all of it, no, but some.

He's used to losing. Friends, family, money, status. He's just never had something – some _one_ – he couldn't live without before.

"I'm yours," he whispers, trying to maintain eye-contact as he does. Trying to push his brain through the fog and not fuck this up. "I will always be yours. I _want_ to be. Take what's yours. Take _me_."

Bull's fingers pull out, and he parts his own legs, knees bent, moving Dorian into position. It's a little awkward, a little hard on both of them, but he holds his own cock still as he uses the ropes to push his beloved down, down, all the way until their bodies snug together, his length pushed inside. 

"You _are_ mine. I _am_ yours. I swore it. I swore it with the key that set you free. I swore it with the ring that makes you **not**. You are _**mine**_." 

He grabs the looped ropes between Dorian's shoulders, holding him just up enough that they can keep eye contact as he uses it to drag him up and down. It won't be enough friction for long, but the psychological need is stronger, at least for the moment. 

"I am not _Hissrad_. Not to you. Never to you. Name me, kadan. Name me for what I _am_." 

Dorian feels like he's going to break down. He's an emotional soul, oh yes, but he's not one for crying. But there's tears in his eyes now, unbidden and real.

"The Iron Bull," he says. "Lover. Fiancé. Husband-to-be. _Amatus_."

He hopes it's enough. He doesn't know what he'll do if it isn't. But from his tone, he means every damn syllable.

Bull pushes up, and captures Dorian's mouth under his. His tongue pushes in to taste those words, those names. To feel the shape of them, to let them sink in. It's magic, older than old. Knowing the name of a thing, being able to shape and control it. He moans in desperate hunger, and then rolls them both so Dorian is on his back, hands trapped beneath him, legs pushed and pulled so Bull can press in deeper.

Dorian's body feels like it was made to fit him, and Bull is all too eager to drive inside. He grips the rope for purchase, and shakes the bed with his rough shunting. He knows Dorian is more than able to take his fiercer side, and he watches his face with unblinking, ravenous focus.

Bull is supposed to be in control. And to not let anyone _see_ him. But Dorian… oh… he sinks around the edge of sinews like the cleverest of knives. He rips past the welded-shut plates. He blasts inside and Bull can't – won't – resist. 

"I love you," he says, simply, as he drops to his elbows and knots his hands together behind Dorian's neck, rutting, angling, trying to find that perfect way to move. His physical control is shot to pieces, turned to rough need and savage hunger. He's straining, struggling, and on the edge of shattering his teeth with how close he is. "I love you." I love you, I love you, I love you. Words in a tongue he wasn't born to, because his own has no way to express how he feels, not truly. Common. It implies the wrong thing. 

_Shared_. Universal. Fundamental. 

" _Asala-kadan_." 

He should – he should wait. He – he should – Bull can't. The emotion hits him, right in the base of his spine like his whole soul is punched out from his body, and he howls his climax out, a mix of victory, terror… no. It's both, and that's love.

Dorian is lost. Not lost in that he doesn't know what to do, or where to go, or anything like that. No. He's lost in the other man, in Bull, in this phenomenal force of nature who makes him feel like nothing and no one else ever could.

And the words cut into him, not like weapons to be feared but like the pain he craves: beautiful and agonising in equal measure; a release for emotions and thoughts he didn't even know were there. He shudders under them, under _him_ , under the rough, savage fucking, and he is. _Lost_. Like a tiny boat on a stormy sea, given over to the current, and the whim of the waves.

He feels the other man come, and he's happy – so very happy – but it doesn't push him over the edge, because he's so desperate to please, to be right, to be _his_ that he won't let go unless he is literally forced out of the choice. But he's coasting on tides of bright pleasure, so very close, and under different circumstances he'd be begging for release now.

But he doesn't. He just _waits_ , and hopes.

Bull knows Dorian hasn't hit his own release, can feel the knots of tension and the press of his cock against his belly, even as his own twitches out every last shock of his own pleasure. He laughs, just a little, at the obvious answer.

Dorian, his beloved, frustrating, beautiful, wicked, magical lover… too ready to please. Too ready to give. Unwilling to take. And has he? Before? Lain with _anyone_ and been so – so – surrendered that he would yield his own satisfaction? Not like this, Bull is sure. 

The once-Qunari rolls again, so Dorian is on top, snuggled against his chest with a still-twitching cock buried inside him. A slight tilt of his hips, so he can reach a hand around his clearly-aching cock. "It's alright, kadan. It's alright. You can let me love you back, just as much as you love me." He starts to stroke, his grip getting tighter, faster, surer. "Give it to me. I _need_ you to. I am yours. I am yours. You are mine." 

The kiss this time is soft, sweet, and his hand never stops working as he licks into his lover's mouth. 

That's all Dorian needs. A final push. _Permission_. And then he's coming so hard he feels like he's on fire with it, pleasure ripping through him over and over as he nigh-on screams his gratitude against Bull's lips. He can't move, can't react, can only lie there and _endure_ , but it's the release he needs, and it feels as though that release is in his head as much as his body.

When it finally starts to fade, he drops down against Bull's chest, utterly spent and exhausted and completely out of his mind… and the air around them both suddenly floods with swirling light. Bright, swirling, _pink_ light, that seems to ebb and flow on Dorian's every breath.

He's not even aware he's doing it. Or, he is, but not that it exists outside of his own head.

When Dorian collapses, Bull smiles… something in his chest just… breaking. Maybe it's that he can do this at all. That those years under the Qun… that he can turn his skills to something purer. Still as complicated, as difficult and challenging… but ultimately so much more satisfying, and… _right_. This is right. It feels right. Terrifying in how intimate and dangerous and vulnerable it makes them both, but… so very, very _good_.

Bull smiles, with an ache of happiness that fills his strained muscles. He slips his fingers into the nearest knot, working it as slowly open as he meticulously tied it. He wants to remove the boundaries between them, and he wants Dorian to float in his arms alone. 

The magical aura is… he barks a laugh. "Very fitting, kadan. My favourite colour, other than the one your cheeks turn when I tell you I love you. It matches your ring." Unwind, unknot, his hands sliding over the puckered skin below, easing out any lingering tension, soothing the aches and claiming them with kind touches instead. 

Bull leaves only the collar in place. It's crude, of course, and a finer one would be better, but the sentiment is enough. He wraps both arms around him, cuddling him as firmly but sweetly as he can. He doesn't have good enough words, so he murmurs wordless affection and devotion instead, stringing kisses between like pearls on a thread. I love you, I love you. You're safe, you're home. 

Dorian is so, so far gone now that he's only distantly aware of everything. He just knows he's _safe_ , and _**loved**_ , and even though he can't even process it all on a conscious level, he knows it's _good_.

Later, he'll wonder at what it means to be so far gone like this; to be completely adrift inside his own head and yet utterly at peace. A lifetime of knowing he needs to maintain control, a lifetime of flaunting that… and somehow now he has a way to do both.

He can't speak. Words are much, much too complicated, and the inside of his head is operating on a different level. But he still tries – of course he does – and the little murmurs convey a surprising amount, if you know how to hear them.

Love. Contentment. _Relief_. And not – just – of a physical kind.

Bull thinks he's never witnessed anything more precious or perfect as Dorian utterly relaxed in his arms. It brings an entirely overwhelming sense of pride, well-earned, and a confirmation. 

He can see why the Qun don't allow this. Not because it's wrong, but because who would throw this away to follow after some distant, impersonal ideal state? For what? And who even benefits from that? No one, if they miss out on moments like this. 

He makes sure there's nothing caught, uncomfortable, or trapped. Dorian isn't aware enough to notice, and he doesn't want him with a dead leg or cramp later. Little things. Wanting him comfortable, safe, protected. His fingers skitter over skin, chasing the marbling light and deep breaths. Drawing sigils that look like clouds or mountains from a long-ago dream, or shaped like thoughts and hopes. 

Bull could stay like this for a very long time. Very regularly, indeed. Between the eating, fighting, drinking. It might wreck him to push them both this far too much, but… it would be worth it, if nothing else than for the soft smile and warm noises against his broad chest. 

"You are the most incredible thing I ever met," Bull whispers, against Dorian's temple. "Dragon-breath in a body of steel and silk. Thoughts like lightning. I swear all I am to you. You have broken _me_." 

Because he is. Utterly, completely, impossibly broken. Broken _in_ , like a weapon in the hands of its true wielder. The leather warped to the fingers that know where to sit. Bull knows Dorian could rip him in two, if he ever wanted to. But only because Bull wants him to have that power, because he knows he never would. He blinks at an errant tear, snuffling at the emotional tides still rushing unbidden through him. Whatever he normally uses to keep them from breaking the surface tension, it's currently long gone. He _feels_ so very deeply, but it's been locked so far away for so very long, that confronting it so keenly is… it's a shock to the system, and he's rocking them both, trying to coast it out. "You have broken me, kadan. And I never want to go back."

Dorian murmurs something that is supposed to be eloquent and supportive, but just sounds distant and happy, and tries to hold on tighter. He's sort of aware that his words simply won't _work_ right now, which ought to be a problem (because this is _him_ , after all) but somehow really isn't.

He didn't think it was possible to even _feel_ like this, until he did. He's been academically aware of what love is for years – it's plastered all over society, art, literature – so it's not hard to work out what people think it should be. And he certainly knows what it's like when there's an _absence_ of it. He's convinced far too many altus couples in Tevinter never even experience it properly; too ready to be pushed into marriages of politics or convenience that they forget about what they really want.

That's never been acceptable for him – for so many reasons – but he's always thought it meant he'd miss out entirely. No one in Tevinter would want him because of what he is. No one outside Tevinter would want him because of where he's from.

And yet, in a whirlwind few weeks, suddenly so much of that has been proven wrong. He'd always thought he could live a decent enough life without it. Now he knows he couldn't. It's like when you have one of those rare, perfect meals, or the absolute finest wines. Others might be good, but the truth is, they don't come close, and they never will.

"…L've y…" he manages. "Stay. F'rever."

Bull finds the hand with the dawnstone band – enchanted and crafted to be both beautiful and powerful – and kisses where it snugs around Dorian's finger.

"That was the idea, kadan. That's… yes."

He does not want him to get cold, later, even if Bull's own body heat would probably be enough. The south isn't what either of them were born for, but with each other and a blanket, it can work. 

"You can rest, Dorian. Just. Let go…" Brushing his hair, his face, his shoulder. Bull is drowsy, too, and he feels the sense of peace flow between and around them. He's not sure when it becomes sleep, or if he even does sleep, or just skims across the surface for hours, but it rushes into his limbs and eases the shadows of pain and tiredness as it does.


	15. Chapter 15

When Dorian finally wakes, he's tangled in warm limbs and held close, and for several moments he doesn't even move. He just lies where he is, letting the world slowly creep back in, not wanting to rush the process. There's a little light filtering into the room, but it's the cool, dim light of pre-dawn, which is further proof that he doesn't need to rush this.

He aches all over – his arms especially – but it's the kind of low, dull ache which speaks of past pleasures, rather than any kind of significant pain.

And he remembers… oh… _oh_ … he remembers, and it makes him snuggle in tighter again, even if the other man is still asleep, needing the contact. Needing _him_.

Distantly, Bull processes the embrace and clumsily tries to reciprocate, somewhere from far, far away. There's mumbled non-words and a little, rumbly purr as he smushes his lips against hair, half-snort-sneezes, then hums when he's done inhaling Dorian's locks. 

He doesn't open his eye, but he does let a hand slide down to his mage's ass. Because even half-awake he knows what's important. (Dorian, then his ass, in that order.) "M'n'g…"

"Mmmmmmm," Dorian manages. Dorian is not a morning person. But he _does_ like being snuggled in bed with his amatus. He is a _that kind_ of person. "…h'lo you…"

He is not, yet, a fully coherent person. This is partly because he was fucked out of his brains so hard that he's not sure where he – or they – ended up. But it's also because sleep. And warm. And not moving. Mmmmm.

"Sl'p well?" Bull's words slur, because he knows there's no danger right now (he can always, always tell). And so he can stretch his legs and spine out, then huddle back in, bending his knees and further squishing the squishy thing he's holding.

And maybe he's bad. Maybe. It's not his fault if a hazy, lazy-morning cuddle means Dorian is still nicely relaxed. And that he can languidly finger his hole with his middle finger. He likes seeing how easily they fit together, whenever they want to. 

"You smell good," he informs him, as he moves to nibble lightly on an earlobe. "Smell of us. Good smell."

Of sexual satisfaction, exertion, and shared sleep. Oh yes. Bull very much enjoys the tang of their mingled releases. Streaked over skin and sheets. Sweat. Musk. High emotion. It all has a flavour, and it rakes down his throat. 

That makes Dorian whimper – not unhappily, it should be noted – and curl in even more. "You'll b-break me again if you keep that up…" he murmurs, voice catching on the realisation of just how needy and vulnerable he still is. It's a feeling he'd hate, if he didn't know how completely safe he was. How completely _free_ he is to feel it without risk.

His hands move to stroke over the other man's skin, just enjoying the contact, mapping him out. Not wanting to push, in case it leads to things that make him go completely to pieces, but loving the feeling of it all the same.

"You _enjoyed_ that." It's a matter of pure fact, after all, and the wicked glint in his expression says that Bull did, too. "I can make it slow… slow, sweet morning sex… start the day off right… maybe another nap after, before breakfast…"

The sounds alone are worth it, and Bull doesn't use more than that single finger. Flexing, pushing, touching the still-swollen-from-stimulus clench of muscle. He's in no rush to get up, and he enjoys taking his time with enjoyable activities, as much as he loves charging headlong into them. 

"Mmm, tell me it wasn't one of the best nights of your life, kadan… it was for me. That… and the first time." He looks so ridiculously smitten, and he does not care one bit. He doesn't care who sees. The only downside would be anyone then trying to hurt Dorian, but Bull knows between them they'd smash the daylights out of anyone who did try.

"It was," Dorian answers, with a shiver. "And we set the bar pretty high to begin with… _oh_ … and I'm not exactly going to turn down more amazing sex with you… just so long as we're clear that I will be in an _insufferably_ good mood all day and the others will have to put up with me…"

Bull will too, obviously, but given that he's also participating in said amazing sex, it's less likely to be an issue. Plus, he seems weirdly fond of insufferably-good-mood-Dorian, which is probably part of the reason why they work so well together.

"It serves them right for mocking us yesterday." Even if it is all part and parcel of how the Chargers all work, and Bull knows they'll be happy their Chief and his fiancé are having a good time. Especially if they can't hear it when it's happening. 

Bull removes his finger, but only so he can grab the lube again, and he holds the bottle out. "Wanna get me ready, then hop on?" He makes it sound much more appealing than the words alone imply, especially as he gazes up at him. "Wanna take my time with you, now."

He draws over Dorian's heart with his fingers, purring deep in his chest. "You know at one point you were _glowing_. Literally glowing. Like I fucked you half into the Fade. Mmm. Happiness suits you."

That makes Dorian smile, and any attempt to come up with a smart-ass remark just sort of fizzles in the face of such a lovely image. "You suit me," he says, instead, which is ridiculously saccharine, and completely true.

Then he nips gently at Bull's jaw, the slightest wicked flash in his eyes. But only slightly. "Is that what you'd like, amatus?" he remarks. "Well, then…"

He takes the offered bottle, but doesn't pour any out just yet; instead slowly sliding down Bull's body, trailing teasing fingertips as he goes. Not trying to provoke, just please. "I'll get you ready," he promises, pushing the blankets back to give himself all the access he needs. "I'm sure you'll make it worth my while…"

And he wraps his lips around the other man's cock, sucking on the tip for a moment and then taking him deep, all at once. And yes, he is showing off, but it's _affectionate_ showing off, so it's OK.

Bull catches the look just before Dorian moves, and he feels that echoing tightness lace across his chest again, like ropes but tighter, and he claws at the sheets in an effort not to just push up as hard as he can. Those clever, clever lips and tongue and he's moaning his appreciation and praise at the soft, wet touches. 

"Ah – ah yes – ohhh, you're _good_ at that, kadan… mmmm… wouldn't be able to fuck anyone else after you… hnnnghhh… wouldn't… hold a candle to-- AH! Yes… yessssss…"

The sheets complain, but it's the only place he can safely siphon off the tension. It's so damn good, and Bull's knees drop wider, then struggle not to clamp around Dorian's ears as he's buffeted by the sensations. He's still tingly from last night, and he's almost afraid he'll spill too soon. 

Dorian knows he can't do this for too long, or too hard, because he doesn't want to end things prematurely. But it's hard to resist carrying on for another moment or two, just because it really is _good_ to feel how it makes the other man react. To give him pleasure, because of just how much he's given Dorian.

And slightly out of devilment. But loving devilment.

When he finally pulls back, he stares up at Bull along the length of his body, a very fond smile on his lips. "You know I could make you come right now, if I wanted to," he says, voice a low purr. "I could use magic to tip you over the edge. It'd be rough and quick, but it would work. I almost want to, just to see what you'd do to me afterwards…"

Mmmm. Yes. One day he'll _have_ to try that.

"…but I _did_ promise to behave and it would be a shame to make a liar of myself so soon…"

One last, very lingering lick, and then he sits more upright again, pouring out some of the lubricant and starting to stroke it slowly, firmly over Bull's very eager cock.

"There's always tonight." Bull definitely sounds like he'd be game for that. "Could you do it without ever touching me? Just… magic?" 

It would be far, far too deviant and twisted and so Bull wants to try it very, very much. He runs the back of his knuckles across Dorian's chest, enjoying the warm, sticky feel of his hand getting him ready. "I did say I'd have to punish you if you did _bad_ things, after all. But I like good Dorian as well. Good Dorian is still _wick--ED_." 

Damn, but it's hard to lie back and let him work. Bull's whole being vibrates with the need to join in, and it's a delicious tension to be pampered and doted on. One he finds he really likes, even if it makes his eye roll up into his skull. "…nnnnfggggghhhh… need you on my dick, kadan. Don't make me beg."

Dorian smiles again. He knows the other man could take proper control any time he wanted – and he himself wouldn't resist it if so – but he still enjoys being a little bit bad.

"Oh yes, I could do that," he purrs. It's not like he hasn't done it before, but all of that just feels like practice for the main event now. "It's… _different_. Might drive you a little wild in the process…"

He sounds positively _delighted_ by the thought.

"For now… I really shouldn't keep you waiting…"

So he sets the lubricant bottle aside and climbs up onto Bull, straddling his hips and taking hold of his cock again, so he can slowly, slowly sink down onto it until he's got the other man's balls pressed against his ass.

" _Fuck_ , you feel good," he gasps, a hitch in his voice at the feeling, and at how sensitive he still is.

"Y-you can do that… later… want to try everythi-THING you WANNNNT ohhhh…" Bull holds Dorian's hips, but not to control his movements, just to chase them and feel them with all of him. 

It's so good. Tight, but clearly not painfully so. The kind that's just skirting the edge of too much, and which makes the blood pound through his whole crotch. A ripple from his shoulders, down to his ass, lightly bucking below him and swaying their coupled bodies together. 

"Kiss me." It should sound more like an order or request, maybe, but there's a hint of open desperation in Bull's voice. It is far, far too good to have this moment when the fury is gone and they can play and tease more. When he can knot his fingers together in the base of Dorian's spine, rocking him, then bending his knees to give him the support he needs for anything he wants to do. "Fucking kiss me. I fucking _love_ you, you sex demon. I thought _you_ were the damn slave…"

The rope collar's still there, and Bull's eye drops down, then back up. Oh, yeah, he did that. 

There's no world in which Dorian could _not_ look ridiculously pleased with himself at that. Adoring too, oh yes, but also very, _very_ proud of the effect he's having. He's not quick to obey, given that he can slowly, slowly, _torturously_ slowly ride the other man like this, but he does enjoy kissing, and… some part of him still wants to do as he's told, even as the wicked edge rises up too.

"I am," he purrs, gradually leaning in whilst still moving his hips. "But I'm from _Tevinter_ , amatus… and to some back home, a _talented_ bed-slave is worth more than a seat in the Magisterium…"

Most who have one have both, of course. But the point still stands.

He closes what little distance remains between them, and kisses Bull; softly at first, but gradually getting more and more involved. Eager to please, yes, but eager to enjoy as well, as is evidenced by the way he starts to move faster, every shunt of his hips sending pleasure flooding through his own body.

Well, Tevinter certainly has some things right, if this is how they do it. Bull is very much enjoying the cream of their breeding program, and he's absolutely never going to let him go. He grips his buttocks, firmly pawing at the muscles and pressing him harder on the down-stroke, trying to tilt up to meet him. It's delicious torture, and he doesn't want anything but this. 

His mouth parts to let Dorian lead, feeling absolutely no shame about his kadan taking whatever he wants, because it's entirely mutual and very, very much appreciated. He only breaks the kiss when he needs to talk, his voice a little shaky as he does.

"W-where do you want to come, kadan? On m-my tits? In my hand? In my mouth?" He nips at his lips. "Tell me. Tell me everything you want. All of it is yours. All of me is yours."

Dorian's hands stroke gently over Bull's face. There are marks from the previous night on his wrists, and he feels good when he sees them; his body reacting to the memory alone.

"Right here," he murmurs in response. "Like this. I want to ride you until I can't take it any more. Until having you inside me makes me fall apart completely, and I can collapse in your arms…"

He likes that, too. Likes being able to fall apart – whether physically, emotionally, or both – and know he's safe to do it. It feels like it releases a pressure somewhere in his head, in his chest, that he didn't know was there until very recently.

" _Asala-kadan_." Bull says it again, hands sliding up Dorian's back to his shoulders, down to his rear again. Wanting to touch every last inch of him, wanting to feel each shiver and twitch. "My heart, my soul. My breath, my thoughts…" 

Bull can't help the dreamy, distant tone. He's still buzzed from last night, still flayed open and raw, twitching at every molecule of air that brushes past his skin. His gaze bores right into the man on top of him, begging him to understand. Begging him to realise just… just how much it matters. How much he matters. How nothing else matters. Only him, only them. 

"I would give you everything," he whispers, and – shit – the wave of emotion surges again, makes him tearful. It's crazy how deep he can feel, it's bordering on madness, and it's – it's – "I can't _tell_ you. I – I can't – I don't have words – I--"

His head turns, shying away from the tear streaking down his face, kissing the palm near his cheek. " _Ataashi._ "

Dorian smiles again, surprised by the emotion but not afraid of it. " _Na'thek, meravas_ ," he murmurs, deliberately slipping into Qunlat for a moment; not to show off, but because he hopes it will make the meaning all the stronger. "I understand, amatus. I _know_."

He kisses the other man's cheek, his jaw, his lips, still riding him as slowly but firmly as he can manage. He'd let Bull take over now, if that was what he wanted. Wouldn't resist it in the slightest. But he suspects that's not the point this time.

And it won't be an issue for much longer, given how close he's getting, and he's sure the other man must be feeling the same. His hips shake from the intensity of it, from how much he _needs_.

"Don't hold back," he breathes, half-insistence and half-plea. "Pull me over the edge with you."

" _Na amatus lerno victoria_." Bull's expression softens further, reaching back across the divide, using a tongue more suited to love, even if he's not so sure the people are any better than his own.

They don't need to be. He only needs one: this one. 

His single eye – damp from too much feeling – searches Dorian's face, seeing mirrored there what he's sure he's showing. They're bound, wound like the two wings of a dragon. Both needed for flight, both powerful in a fight. His belly is tensing, his toes curling from the overwhelming and increasing sensations. It's almost too much, and it's made stronger by the way Dorian's body flinches and flees as much as it chases. It's right there, the explosion on the horizon. The light that's nearly too bright to see, that you want and almost-don't, because then it will be over.

But it won't. Be over. It will still be there, later. And the glow will throb through him all day.

Bull grabs Dorian's thigh, and effortlessly flips them, so he's on his back and under him. He grabs his mage's left hand with his own right, bent over his head, clasped together and pushed into the mattress. He needs the connection, the… promise. It's not fucking, it's not even sex, it's most assuredly love-making, and he _knows_ it's the most addictive thing he's ever found in his life. 

Left hand under his knee, bending it, then gripping his waist as he thrusts firm, firm and steady. He very deliberately uses only his abdomen to grind into Dorian's lap, wanting the climax to be as diffuse and sharp as he can make it. Close enough to kiss, but refusing to. Watching his eyes, determined to seal the memory of his bliss in his mind forever. 

"This. This is us. This is us forever, kadan. Anything we want. Anything we need. _Together_." It's a promise from deep, deep inside, and he knows he's almost there, almost… " _Itwasaam_. Come. Come… _Kadan_." 

Maybe he should have moved faster, but as the orgasm hits like balsamic dropped in oil, he knows this is good, too. Gushing, soothing, easing and somehow flooding through his whole self. Not the short, sharp shock of a rough wank, not the spear-injury of a harsh fuck. It's warmer, and it makes his skin seem to sheen and his horns throb and oh, why the fuck didn't they always have one another? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. He has him, now. He has him, and this is forever and damn, but does it make all the other shit worth dragging himself through, if he gets this gift from the universe. 

Dorian _loves_ being flipped like that, and he doesn't resist it in the slightest; delight shining in his eyes as the other man pins him down and takes him slowly, and it might be torture were it not already bliss beyond words.

"Amatus," he breathes, " _amatus_ ," and it sounds like a prayer to the highest power imaginable. Because it is. "Yes… _yes_ …"

And he comes, like waves breaking on the shore, over and over, never looking away from the man above him. Fucking is physical – and damn good, too – but this is more. This is in the head, and the heart, and he feels it all the way through, as if it's bounced right into the Fade and back again.

When it passes, when it's over, he drops back against the bed, exhausted and hypersensitive. And, by the way he's currently trying to hold onto Bull any way he can, very, very much craving all the contact he can get.

When he's sure there's no more need to thrust, and all that's left is the twitches and whispers of aftershock, Bull eases Dorian's leg back down, and settles between his thighs. He knows he's heavy, so he puts some of his weight into one shoulder, and then lets the rest of his bulk press him into the bed. He knows the blanketing pressure comforts Dorian, makes him feel secure and connected. Bull loves it too, and the little twitches, sighs, and big lungful gasps that follow.

He keeps hold of the hand in his own, resting his head on one horn to the side, so he's able to gaze adoringly down at the very, very satisfied lover he's still buried inside of. 

Bull just… hums. Wordless, despite all the tongues he knows, reverting to the purest expression of emotion in tone and vibration. It's as instinctive as breathing, as touching, and he wonders how in Thedas he's ever going to leave this bed, if Dorian is in it. Maybe if it gets set on fire. 

"They spoke of _asit tal-eb_ , of… fate… of what should be… I never knew… never had faith… until I found you. Your Maker is in the magic, in a place I can only see in dreams, kadan. But mine… my faith is in this. In _us_. Thank you. You… are my _aqun_. You."

A deep, satisfied sigh and he curls in tighter, eye closed and beyond happy. He remembers the feelings of loss, confusion, fear… the ones that drove him to seek answers from the Ben-Hassrath after Seheron. 

They did answer him, just not how they intended. They sent him here, to Dorian. And now he knows he'd never go back to Par Vollen as 'home' again. 

Dorian wraps his free hand up and around the other man's shoulders, stroking over the back of his neck. "I love you," he murmurs. "And whatever you ask, whatever you need… I will give you. _Anything_ , amatus."

How did he live without this before he had it? Without _him?_ How did he live so long with a _void_ at the centre of his being, and never realise it?

"…just don't ask me to move too soon," he adds, with a little smile. "I want to lie like this for as long as possible…"

"Yeah, I'm not planning on moving, either. You feel too good, and the others won't be up for a while. You… need to sleep?" Bull arches like a cat under the touches, fuzzy with the soft affection. 

"You can sleep, if you need to," he adds. "Or… there's always pillow talk. There's supposed to be more of it than just 'yes', 'harder' and 'fuck', or so I'm told…"

Dorian smiles even more, and traces fingertips down the side of Bull's face. "Much as I _am_ still tired from having my brains screwed out several times, I'd rather stay awake with you. We could always plot world domination… that's what people back home do if they _don't_ hate each other too much to stick around afterwards. That, or plan parties, which tend to be pretty much the same thing…"

"Besides," he adds, "what's wrong with 'yes', 'harder' and 'fuck'? We could also add 'more', and 'please', and ' _anything_ '…"

He leans in, nipping at Bull's jaw. Possibly he is very bad. Possibly he is not sorry.

"There's nothing wrong with those." Bull runs his palm over Dorian's flank, feeling every shift and shudder. "Absolutely nothing wrong. But they also involve moving of a kind, and unless you want your brains screwed out again right _now_ , we should add some in-between.."

Bull very much wishes he was recovered again already, but that was rather intense in its own, soft way. And he wants to linger in the pleasant after-effects for a while, yet. "I would also like to suggest 'no, don't!' and 'don't you dare come yet'… but…"

Augh. He's supposed to be redirecting things. It's just that Dorian is so ridiculously appealing, for more than just aesthetic reasons. "I don't tend to plan parties. I tell Krem to do it, or they just happen. But we could definitely plan for the wedding. I want it to be the best and worst of both our – er – families. And I had some… I had some other thoughts…" His tongue pokes out, then teeth pinch into his lip. "I want to know more about… you. The things you haven't said. I don't just mean what you want in bed… I want to know the things you used to dream, or want, or believe. Before the world crashed in on you. I want to know… what else we can try." 

Dorian is just about to start talking embossed stationery again (if only to see the look on the other man's face) when Bull goes and says _that_ , and he's left staring upwards in surprise.

"More about me? You mean I'm not talking about myself enough? I shall have to try harder!"

It sounds like bluster, but beneath the tone he's genuinely touched, and when he speaks again he sounds much more serious.

"What I've always wanted is to make a difference," he admits. "In Tevinter. To push for reforms. Make things better. It's why I tried so hard to stick around long enough to inherit my father's seat in the Magisterium… but I guess I'll have to find another way."

"…if he did disown you, who would even have the seat? Maybe we could adopt some abandoned cousin or something, if you really wanted that. Keep their 'blood' and magic bullshit going, enough to make them happy, and get what you want, too." Bull shrugs. "I'm not against you making the Imperium better. Even if I doubt it'd be easy for you, with me around." 

Not easy would be the understatement of the whole age, but – well – people who are as effusive as his Dorian don't tend to care much for 'it's always been that way'. 

"What would you do? Maybe I can help? I mean, you know the people and the place better than I do, but have you ever had anyone to talk your thoughts through with? Or offer ideas? I can see things you might have missed, or ask questions you didn't think to ask."

"If he formally disowns me, he'd name another heir in my stead," Dorian answers, sounding a lot less hurt by the idea than he is. "Technically it could be anyone, but in practice it would usually be another senior member of the family. I have no siblings, but I do have two cousins, both on my mother's side. I don't know either of them well – probably because my aunt and uncle warned them away from me – but they have at least _decent_ magical ability."

"But… my father won't want to name either of them," he goes on, "because they're House Thalrassian by blood, not House Pavus, and he _hates_ my mother's side of the family. He'd be more likely to name a friend – or the son of a friend – as one last fuck-you to his in-laws."

"As to what I'd do… the first step would be to build up influence. Form a group of like-minded people – because there _are_ others – and seek to make our voices heard. My friend Maevaris is doing that right now, and she _is_ a magister, so she might stand a chance. People do keep trying to kill her, though, so hopefully she's still on top of that. Beyond that… no. I haven't gotten very far. I've been too busy trying to track down information on the Venatori whilst avoiding my parents, in case they try to lock me up again."

"So… other than the needing… children part… maybe we could lean on the 'fuck you Thalrassians' and _you_ adopt the one he'd have named, anyway?" Bull sucks on his lips, clearly thinking, the cogs whirring just beyond sight. "Unless you think he might have an illegitimate heir he could put under your care? Worked in Ferelden, after all."

This part – the intricate social lines part – is not one Bull feels he missed out on having. Although it is usually very useful for manipulating and manoeuvering humans, elves and dwarves. 

"Would you be interested in that, as a potential diplomatic solution? If I'm remembering correctly, fostering and wards are a last resort, but they are acceptable. I'm assuming you don't want to… well. Make one of your own. But I should have asked, not assumed."

Bull isn't entirely sure how he'd feel about that, if Dorian did want to. But he'd work with it. It wouldn't be cheating, after all, if they agreed. And sperm donations were pretty much the only thing the Qunari males expected to provide to the table. Or bed. Or… yeah.

"I don't want to make one of my own, no," Dorian answers, with a smile to show he's not offended by the question. "I have little interest in children and I'm _far_ too irresponsible to be in charge of one. I'd probably compete with it and end up fucking it up worse than my father did me… albeit with more attempts at emotional support…"

No. No. Dorian Pavus can do many things if he chooses to put his mind to it. Raising a child is not one of them.

"As for adopting one of the others, they're both of age and somehow I doubt they'll be sympathetic towards me. But I'd discuss an alliance with them, if they'd agree to see me. And as for an illegitimate heir… well. It's no secret my parents hate each other. I worked _that_ out around the same time I learned to talk. But my father is _very_ straight-laced. If he does have any bastards lying around, he's hidden them extremely well."

"Still. There's options. And it sounds like you aren't the only Vint ready to talk about change…" Bull gently takes Dorian's left hand, kissing the knuckles whilst looking right at him. "And if you need to take steps… I will be there beside you. It matters to you. So it matters to me. I don't want you feeling you can't discuss things, or ask for things… we're a partnership, now. I mean it."

Even if the whole Imperium will want him dead. Or nearabouts the whole. A Tal-Vashoth who was Ben-Hassrath? No one would believe for an instant that he wasn't playing some very, very long game. 

Dorian himself worried that, not a few hours before. 

"And for what it is worth… I think you'd damn well try with everything you had to be a better father. I entirely respect your choice not to, but I won't have you sell yourself short. You're no Andraste, or whatever, but if I was having kids, I'd definitely want you there. And…" he glances away. "I don't know I'd want them, either. Kind of have enough as it is, so if we can avoid having screaming poop machines that depend on us every waking hour… if you want that kind of commitment, a Mabari grows up faster. And learns where to poop sooner, too. But if it was what you needed… we could… it'd be an option. Especially the Mabari. Those things kick ass."

"Not the only one, no," Dorian agrees. "People do keep trying to kill us, though, so maybe watch out for that. And…"

His heart suddenly aches.

"…asking you to go back to Tevinter with me… how could I do that? You'd be as popular there as I would be in Par Vollen. I… I figured I was giving all that up when I agreed to marry you."

It's clear from his tone that he certainly wasn't looking for an excuse to give it all up. That he's invested in this, that it matters. But… that his relationship comes first now.

"Hey… I… look. Maybe we don't live in Minrathous with an open-walled garden and say 'come kill us', but… Dorian…" Bull flips them, so he's on his back again. Arms wrapped around his waist, looking fervently sure. 

"I'm not losing you, but I'm… I'm not changing you, either. It matters. And maybe you can do some of it without being _there_ there, or… I don't know. We got a Darkspawn Magister shit to sort out first, but… we can work something out, right? You're brilliant. I'm just as good. And the Imperium hasn't seen me flex, yet. When your horrible relatives see how I can use a knife and fork, _and_ walk and talk at the same time… they'll all be wanting us as their gay best friends." 

Yes, that bit's a little silly, but he wants him to smile. 

He gets his wish. The image is more than enough to make Dorian laugh, but there's a sadness behind it still. He loves his homeland. He really does. His stupid, broken, beautiful, brilliant homeland. He's out here in the first place because he was trying to save it, after all. Starting with Alexius, yes, but even so.

"My family will _hate_ you," he points out. "A man, a non-mage, a foreigner, a _Qunari?_ They won't know which reason to complain about first. The mere _sight_ of you will probably have my great-aunt reaching for the smelling salts. Actually, that might make my mother hate you slightly less. There's no one in the world she detests more than my father's aunt…"

He's talking to give his mind time to process what the other man is saying. The very idea of taking him _home_ … well, it's wonderful, of course. But it's also insane. Isn't it?

"Yes," he says, and means it. "We can work something out. One thing at a time. First we stop my former mentor and his Darkspawn god. Then… then we face the _real_ challenge."

Family politics.

"I am actually house-trained. If you did want me to dazzle them with courtly manners – Tevinter, Orlesian, Nevarran – you name it… I could make them wish I was the big-titted magical mistress they dreamed you'd bag…" Yes, Bull's expression is full of devilment of his own. "Not that it would change their minds to see I'm just as adept at intrigue, politics and philosophy as them. But if no one is the first, then there's never a second."

Bull never really wanted to change the world. It wasn't his goal, it wasn't on his horizon. But he knows he wants Dorian, and he wants what Dorian wants, and he wants the ridiculous war to stop killing good people on both sides. People like Dorian, or Krem, or any number of Qunari… 

He wants Dorian. Happy Dorian. Safe Dorian. Dorian on a mission to change the world. He's a firework, angrily burning, waiting to light up the sky. 

"Tell me more. I want to know _everything_. I want to know what your dreams were when you were young. I want to know the – the – first spell you struggled with, or were proud you mastered. I want to know what books changed you. I want… I want you, kadan. And I don't want your memories of home to only be sad ones. Tell me the good ones. Tell me who you were, before we met."

Dorian is not used to this. He can talk about himself until the cows come home, die, and get resurrected to prove a point, but it's usually to fill space or get attention. And even though he knows it's different because it's Bull, and he's _him_ … it still feels odd.

Not bad. Just odd.

"I'm afraid there's a sad story wrapped up in that, too," he points out, not (too) melodramatically. "But it has good parts." Especially if he misses out more of the bad ones. "I was born and raised in Qarinus, in the north-east. My family has a sizeable estate there. I'm an only child – which _won't_ surprise you – of a loveless marriage that achieved half of its stated aim. It produced an heir with superior magical talent."

He smiles. His magic is one thing he never has to feel insecure about, because he knows he's good.

"And what did I want to be when I grew up? I wanted to be a senior enchanter. Not a _first_ enchanter, because they don't get to be magisters, but as a _senior_ one, I could have been both. Circles in Tevinter aren't like those elsewhere. They're not prisons. They're hallowed halls of learning, of excelling. Of the very best Tevinter has to offer. And I was _very_ good at getting expelled from them, on account of thinking myself the smartest person in the room. Which is _probably_ because I was, but people don't take kindly to that when your voice hasn't even broken yet."

"So… I moved around a lot. Academically. Until the incident with the Order of Argent. Until Alexius picked me up from that brothel – and to this day I do _not_ know what he was doing there – and took me as his apprentice."

His expression mellows, happy and sad at the same time, but with a spark of distant dreaminess that he couldn't deny if he tried.

"They were the happiest years of my life, at least until now. I finally felt… _right_. So much of who I am, I owe to him. He taught me ways to manipulate mana, to warp the Veil… techniques that make so many spells feel _effortless_."

Now he smiles, and lifts a hand, and draws a spiral of glittering light in midair.

"…and that's the first spell I ever mastered. _Inlustris_. Starlight. I was four."

"Does it – can you feel it, like – almost physically? The Veil, magic, mana…? Is it like… putting your hands in water? Or like shaping smoke?" Bull is clearly fascinated. By all of it, but this is the bit he can't quite wrap his mind around yet. "And… if you do it too long, is it like you've been thinking or running too hard?"

Demons scare him. Demons scare him a lot, and with good reason. But morons with _gaatlok_ scare him, too, and he's trying to remember that this is the same, or similar. He's trying to get used to it, or at least comfortable. It's okay when it's Dorian, but now he has all these gaps in his knowledge because it's more than just something to defend against. 

"…did… did you always have it? Or know you did? Do you even remember it starting, or was it… was it just… like… always part of you?" He pushes his fingers towards the light, cautious but curious. "You were lucky. Being Tevinter. You'd have hated the Qun, even if you weren't magically talented. It would _not_ suit your need to excel. You'd probably have been a priest as well, pushed off like me. And then you wouldn't have gone back." 

"Magical ability manifests at different ages," Dorian answers, watching Bull's fingers flick around the hovering light with a fond smile on his own face. "In the south, because no one wants their child to turn out to be a mage, they're often quite a bit older before their latent talent finally pushes past the repression. But in Tevinter, _everyone_ wants a magical child. It can literally change your social class. And for the altus, it would be a scandal not to produce one, so they try to draw it out of you from very early on. I'm not sure if I was aware of my magic before that… I was _very_ young. But I do remember the way it felt, the first time I managed to cast. It was… as if the world was suddenly in colour."

His expression goes distant. "It's… hard to explain what it feels like. Reality has different levels, and you just sort of… pull one through into the other, as if it was always meant to be there. It feels a bit like putting your hands in water… more for the _resistance_ than anything else. The way you pull at the Veil. It's…"

A smile again. "…so very easy. Or, it is for me. You know how it is when you speak more than one language? And you can't quite work out why other people don't know the word for something in three different tongues, because it's just so _obvious_ to you? It's… sort of like that. But with more fire."

"Or people," Bull says, with a tone of clarity. "What to say to make them do things. What to listen to, to understand them. It's like people, but it's fire… ice…" Yes, okay, he can process that. He nods, a little grunt of satisfaction. 

"Not everyone can do what I do. I mean, I can't set you on fire from across the room, but I can tell who in the room wants to set fire to someone else. And how to make it happen, or not. And – it won't surprise you to learn – the more languages you know, the more you understand people. Not just on the individual level, but their cultures… and your own. It's probably why there's not much call for polyglot Qunari. They'd get _ideas_."

All sorts of ideas. 

"I have one more question – for now, anyway – if I'm not making you feel like you're being interrogated." He says that with a self-deprecating smile. "You are. But it's just for my personal enjoyment, and no one else's greater plan."

"I did wonder," Dorian replies, lightly. "And I don't mind. I like talking about myself, but the direction does help, or I'll ramble aimlessly for hours. So… interrogate away."

And… now he's thinking of all sorts of _fun_ ways to put Bull's interrogative talents to use. Because he is a deviant. A very _creative_ deviant. But… _later_ , Dorian…

Bull lifts a hand in a placatory gesture. "Okay – don't hit me when I ask this – because it's _useful_ and I appreciate useful. And it's also incredibly effective at causing panic in the enemy lines, but… necromancy? You more than just use it. You _like_ it. And I'm thinking it's for that shock factor. That… take things almost too far as a distraction… push at the lines of what's acceptable… but I want to hear it from you. Because there _has_ to be several stories behind it, and I **love** stories."

That makes Dorian laugh. "Well it's _partly_ for the shock factor, that's true. You can make hardened, seasoned warriors run crying for their mothers just by raising the corpse of someone they knew. Or even someone they _didn't_ know. It's easily the rarest and most _unsettling_ school of magic, which makes it more unfamiliar to people, and therefore more impactful. Plus you get a free ally or two on the battlefield! You rarely fight alone when you're a necromancer…"

Then he looks a little more serious; almost _academic_. "That's not the whole of it, though. It's a complicated school. Difficult to master. Part of me did it to prove that I could. I had a reputation as a duellist in my youth, and proper duelling is primarily elemental, which is flashy and effective in combat, but not _challenging_. So I needed to stretch myself… and show several people that I wasn't all form and no substance. One of said people ended up on fire… and that was my _third_ expulsion… ah, memories."

He doesn't look as guilty as he should. Or at all, really.

"But necromancy isn't just raising the dead. There's a lot more to it. It's about interacting with the spirits who are _attracted_ to death… which means you can use it to manipulate emotions. Create fear. Even use it to draw energy from the living to bolster your own. A skilled necromancer is a valuable ally and a _dangerous_ enemy, even by magical standards."

He smiles again. "I wanted to be the best. And… the most useful."

Bull laughs, from somewhere deep in his belly. And then cuddles Dorian all the tighter, delighted with the answer (and with him). "I knew it. You don't like being told 'no', do you? Or that something is too hard… except: you do. Just so you've got something to prove wrong." 

Which is when he nuzzles and nips at his ear, with a playful wriggle of his hips. "All of which is incredibly, _incredibly_ useful knowledge. And… _I_ like to be useful, too. The difference being: I don't mind when people fall for my conceit. It's very convenient when they think I'm just brute strength. And when they think I'm only interested in wine, wenches, and good times… although that one won't work unless we plan ahead, now." 

Bull smirks. "How would you feel if – strategically – our missions required me to… sweet-talk some marks. Male, female…? Or you. I'm sure you could convince people who don't know you that you're more flexible than you actually are."

He realises no one has ever been jealous before, at least: not over his interests. There's been plenty of times when interest in him has upset the slighted suitor, but no one's ever cared if he acted like he reciprocated interests before. 

"Strategically?" Dorian repeats, though he's still smiling. "I _have_ participated in orgies, you know. And whilst being with you has taught me that, under it all, I am actually very monogamous, I can still _act_ like I'm not. _Convincingly_. The Orlesians may be proud of their Game, but in Tevinter, we do it _without_ masks."

He headtilts, clearly mulling over the idea. "So yes. If it was planned – or obviously tactical – then I'd be fine with it. And happily join in. I can even flirt convincingly with women… I've broken a heart or two over the years."

"So… you'd rather play sandwich filler? I can work with that. It's also fun if there's _jealousy_. I mean, it wouldn't actually be infidelity. Just like it isn't actually you being hauled off to be my sex-slave… well. Not unwillingly…" Bull tries to ignore the flicker in his belly, at least for the moment. 

"I told you I didn't want you fooling around… you know why I said it, don't you?" He thinks perhaps he should clarify it. "I'm not… I'm not interested in forcing you into anything. In any way. I think you saw that…" 

Bull pushes his finger under the necklace, lifting the key up between them. "I trust you. And it's because I trust you that I'd be interested in our _own_ version of 'Games'. All sorts of games. Not gonna lie… the idea of giving you orders, making you follow – or _not_ – secrets we keep and a language all of our own…" Okay, yep, definitely enjoying that thought. "And at least _once_ you're gonna have to drag my ass from the brothel, because… hnnnngh. I'll tip them for it. They won't mind."

Dorian's eyes go wide. "You _want_ me to drag you home by your ear? Or is it the drama you enjoy?" Another little laugh, but then his eyes go more serious. "I trust you too. And I know you wouldn't force me into anything I didn't _want_ forcing into. I knew that from very early on, when I kept making it clear you could ravish me if you wanted and you wouldn't do it until you were sure _I_ wanted it as well."

A distant expression. Happy memories. Happy, happy… _focus_ , Dorian.

"So yes, I'm very creative. And very flexible. And very good at getting people to do what I want… with a few significant exceptions, it's true, but my overall track record is good."

And then he looks wicked again, and obviously interested. "What other games have you been imagining, amatus?" he asks, in a tone _designed_ to prove the previous point. And spark further fun conversation, obviously.

Bull's chuckle is pushed right into Dorian's neck, along with some soft kisses. "Yeah… not the drama… I mean… not the scandal. I don't need other people to know you want me… even if it is nice. I guess I like the idea of seeing you possessive… demanding my attention… even if you then want pounding through the bed…" 

He is blushing a little at that. He's never had an issue with any act, position, or anything he's tried. But the emotional element is a new one to play with, and it's causing a seismic shift in what he finds intriguing. "It's dumb, maybe. But it's the stuff I didn't do – wouldn't do – before you…"

A grey digit starts scrawling what could maybe be a dragon, over a shoulder-blade. "So some of it is the stupid domestic shit. And some of it is the… _jealous_ shit. And… mmm. Maybe I like the idea of you wearing things for me. Things under your clothes. Things _in_ you. Shit that will get us off all day, until we can find somewhere to release the tension…"

Uhoh. 

"…rope under your clothes. Your pretty cock all tied up. Your ass fingered open then locked, plugged, waiting… You doing your best to seduce me, like a dancing-wench or whore… You saying no, when I make advances on you… Both of us flirting with others until one of us _snaps_ … Stroking you under the table when we're drinking, seeing if you keep your face straight… Giving you orders you can't possibly follow and punishing you when you can't… Breaking you, over and over… pushing you into a closet and seeing if you can keep quiet while I fuck you just feet away from the servants… Seeing how long you can go without coming, seeing how many times you can come without passing out… seeing if you'll come from just my words… you using your magic on me… _all_ sorts of games, kadan." 

"You are _wicked_ ," Dorian breathes, in the kind of tone that hides not one drop of his approval. "And it isn't dumb. None of it is, if we both want it. Why shouldn't we have fun if no one else gets hurt in the process? Although… I'm surprised by how many of your fantasies are so… _domestic_."

Surprised, yes, but pleased too. It means he won't be bored if they ever try for a life approaching 'normal'.

"…domestic _is_ kinky for me. Qunari don't mind getting off at all. But the… feelings stuff? And… being _wanted_?" That's so fucking taboo Bull can't even put it into words. "They make you Tal-Vashoth, no questions asked. Don't even think deep cover would let them buy what we are… if I even tried, I mean. Think they'd slit my throat the minute they saw your hand, and if they knew I wanted… wanted… _blankets_ and… _towels_ and things? They'd probably try to feed me my own dick." 

And not in a fun way. 

"But… I do. Want towels and blankets and… breakfasts and… brunches and even fucking embossed wedding invitations and buying your favourite cakes. Because… you make me want it…"

Absolutely he's flustering, even though the bravado in his voice says he's trying to make light of it. It's sensitive, and deeply personal, and vulnerable. And he hates that something so 'ordinary' for everyone else makes him so afraid. Afraid of asking, and afraid of losing.

Dorian puts both hands on Bull's face and meets his eye, serious now. "Domestic may not quite be _kinky_ for me, but it's also something I never quite thought I'd get to share with anyone. So I'm happy with it. All of it. If we could make it work without one or both of us going insane – or making too many enemies – then I'd gladly do it for as long as you like. Contrary to what you might think, I don't actually enjoy gallivanting around the countryside picking fights with bandits. I much prefer society events, public debates, decent libraries, and a friendly local tavern."

Of course, he _should_ drink at home, like a proper altus. But taverns have better atmospheres.

Bull's hands cover those on his face. "I like the fights as well. Probably wouldn't be able to be constantly a kept man. Wouldn't mind finding some middle ground, though. And your events, debates, libraries… they probably wouldn't want me there, but _I_ would be proud to accompany my _husband_ there. Maybe even try to hold my own. If he'd then consider the occasional… less-classy tavern… the odd trip to find a dragon… maybe a bit of the dirty work needed to clean up the Imperium's back garden…?"

Yeah. It's ridiculous, but Bull thinks if anyone could pull it off, it'd be Dorian. Flighty and troublesome as he might have been in his youth, it was for a reason. And that reason is there, in those dark, dark eyes. Bull can't help but love him even more for knowing it. 

"But… ah…" a thought hits Dorian, and he's suddenly hesitant. "…you do realise that if we _did_ try to make a go of it in Tevinter, people will assume you're my bodyguard. Or… similar."

Weirdly, he can't quite say it. If their power-dynamic was the other way around, he'd probably be able to make the whole thing seem delightfully filthy. But instead, he's oddly self-conscious.

"You know you can say it if you want to: they'll think I'm your slave. And I'll happily play along with it, if you want me to. When we need to. Especially if you're the one taking all my orders before we leave the house, and wearing what I put on you…" Bull squeezes him again. "You in control of me, while I'm in control of you. And then – when no one's looking – I bang the everliving fuck out of you. Your wild, savage beast… defiling the born-to-rule magister… everyone thinking you have me on a leash, and no one knowing I bend you in half and make you come on my dick like you're the one in chains… isn't that even _more_ perverse for you, kadan?"

Now Dorian looks a little nervous. "I _don't_ want people thinking that. I really don't. But… it might be the safest way. There aren't exactly many Qunari in the Imperium, and most… most are captured war trophies. And I don't… I wouldn't… you know I'd never… _overstep_."

And by that, he doesn't just mean the rules of the game.

"For your continued safety, it might be easier for the _unworthy_ to have their prejudices unchallenged. That wouldn't change anything between us, in private, or in our bed. I was Ben-Hassrath. I know all about public faces, kadan. But you would have my real face. What are you so afraid of? Is it that you'd feel hypocritical? You think I would worry you'd hurt me, somehow, if it was something I offered freely?"

Bull leans, and grabs the necklace again, capturing both pendants. "I gave you the key when I made you mine. Why would it be so odd to put a collar on me, when I'm offering? Are you afraid I would be upset if you were more… dominant at times? Or that it would break something between us?"

"It's… complicated," Dorian manages, which betrays just how affected he is. "I like how things are between us. It works for me, and I don't think I'm wrong in saying it works for you, too. And it… helps me. Maybe it is just that I get off on it, but it feels… deeper than that. Like the release isn't just physical. When I let you take control… it takes a weight off me, too. A weight I think I carried for too long."

"And I would feel… hypocritical, yes. Whilst I'm not technically opposed to the practice, because it offers the soporati a chance at a life away from the kind of ghastly slums you see in the south… I certainly don't hold with forcing people into it against their will. Also, if you're my husband, we should be equals in the public eye. Even if I was the dominant one, I'd feel uncomfortable about it. You should be at my side, not at my heel."

"You've had expectations on you, your whole life. Before you were born, even. You were conceived in someone's mind, before a womb…" Bull pushes fingers through Dorian's hair, mussing it up the wrong way. He likes it more wild, sometimes. "It is an awful burden to put on anyone, especially one so young. And now, you feel – because of your sense of _right_ – like you carry the whole Imperium on your shoulders. Of _course_ you want a place to put that weight down, kadan. If you didn't want a break, then you wouldn't be the kind of person I'd want trying to change anything."

Bull knows those types, too. They scare him, as much as the ones whose minds have fully snapped. The ones that never had the ability to snap in the first place. 

"You never had anyone protect you. It's why you ran away, and why – when you thought you found it in Alexius – you were so betrayed. You _wanted_ someone to scoop you up, and let you let go. Not even just in bed… it just happens that I'm good at _that_ part, too. It's… it's why I…"

Yeah. Bull clears his throat a little. "For me? Some of it is about controlling something powerful, and outside of myself. Having the control that _my_ life denied. But even more of it… oh, kadan, if you knew how you looked… if you knew how _good_ it feels, knowing I can… knowing I am capable of it, and that it… when you feel that way…" 

Possibly he shouldn't shatter the illusion. Possibly once-Hissrad absolutely should, for once, shatter an illusion. Pull the curtain back. Expose the sleight of hand. 

He swallows, past a tightness that's painful in his throat. "Then why don't we show them something else, instead? Nothing to confirm, or deny, or confound, or annoy. What we _are_ together… you **are** my equal. You exceed me in some things, and I do you in others. If I tie you up and make you fly… that's for you and me, and not anyone else. If you want the world to see my hand in yours, then I'll take it. And if not, I'll stand shoulder to shoulder with you, and what we are when no one can see is for _us_ , and us alone. And if… sometimes that involves some story-telling… it is for _us_. Those games are games. And I think _no_ less of a man who can submit. What you give… what you are willing to show… it is a far deeper strength and knowledge in your surrender than any slave-owner would see in their whole life."

Dorian curls in and kisses him at that. Hard. He's clearly affected by the words, and the sentiment, and the rest of it besides. He takes a moment over the kiss, too; partly because he likes kissing Bull, but also because it gives him space to gather his thoughts where it isn't so obvious how emotional he is. Which… OK, he knows he's safe to be emotional around Bull. But he still worries.

When the kiss finally breaks, he's smiling. Apprehensive and touched, yes, but smiling. "All right," he says. "Yes. We'll show them us. The real us, at least the parts that aren't private. And if they try to kill us for it, we just kill them first. We're good at that."

Fingertips trace along the other man's jaw as Dorian stares at him, fondly. "I guess we're good for each other, too. Though that isn't really a surprise. I'm just… glad I give you as much as you give me. I would hate to think it only went one way."

Bull likes kisses. He especially likes kisses like that: where it's all feeling and connection and things you haven't fully got words for, and where it makes your chest tight and breathless, not just because you haven't been able to breathe. 

After it, he sighs, slow and content, like a man who knows the world is right, at last. "You should be the real you. In all your complexity. You left because you didn't want to lie… why start now?" 

He turns to nip the air just above Dorian's fingers, a little playful growl curling his lips back. "I told you. My whole life… looking for purpose. It was supposed to be there, in the Qun. But I couldn't see a reason why anyone should die for what they wanted us to die for. You… I would die for what you believe in… but I'd rather live with your hand in mine. I'd rather listen to you talk about things I don't understand, until I do. And share the things that make you happy. And make more of those smiles happen. I'd rather do anything with you, than everything without you. Even – _even_ – if it meant actually being your slave. Because… it's you, kadan."

He grabs his hand, pushes it into his forehead. "It's you. You make me happy. You… make me have a reason to get up in the morning. Or… stay in bed… _with_ you. I don't want to think about what I'd do if I lost you. I _can't_ and I **won't**. I was…" 

No. No, no, no. No. Bull just… stops. 

The sudden shift in mood, in tone, catches Dorian off-guard, and the alarm is there in his eyes. "Amatus?" he says. "Amatus, what is it? You can tell me, you know. This… it _does_ work both ways. I can listen, as well as talk."

Not easily around other people, true. But Bull is different.

"You – you know how I was, when… when we met, I…" Bull does not want to talk about it. 

But it would be hypocritical. And wrong. 

And maybe he needs to.

"I left them. The Chargers. Ah – you know how I love them, but it – it wasn't enough. And… I was sure I'd get them killed, or worse, and it just…"

He has to say it, or it will never mend. The price of knowing people is the horrific potential to know yourself, and then have to live with said person.

"I told you that after Seheron… I turned myself in. When I saw what the Tal-Vashoth did there… when I saw what they did to the _kids_ … I… I couldn't see a reason to keep going. I remembered… all the blood. All the dead. All the screaming, and I couldn't see _why_ , and the only thing – the only alternative to the Qun – was the very people who _did_ that to kids in the first place… Then… then I came south, and…"

Bull laughs. "Rescued a Vint from his own people. Made my own unit when I didn't like the one I was supposed to follow. And I _love_ them. I do. And they were happy… but I… it wasn't… enough."

There. He feels like the worst creature ever to draw breath. What the hell was wrong with him, that a good group of friends, a full belly, the ability to go where they wanted, do what they wanted… that it wasn't enough? 

"I left them. I told myself I was going to go back. Just. Get it out of my system. Enough pain, enough blood, and I'd be right again. Reset my head. Blow off steam. And if I couldn't, I'd just get the Ben-Hassrath to 'fix' me again. But I knew they wouldn't, not this time. It _was_ a lie, a lie to myself, and I knew it. I – I was looking for a fight that was too big." On purpose. With dignity. With his Chargers far, far away and self-sufficient enough to not miss him for much longer. 

"…then I met you."

Dorian listens, not interrupting, trying to keep his reactions in check so the other man keeps going as long as he needs to. Except… then he goes and says _that_ , and Dorian's stomach sinks.

"I knew you were looking for a fight," he starts out, softly. "Even before you told me as much, I could tell. But I thought you were looking for a target you could hate. I assumed… because I'm from Tevinter, because I'm a mage… you thought you wouldn't get attached. I assumed it was so that, if you had to hurt me, or kill me… it would be easy. But instead… you were looking for…"

He can't even say it.

"I understand, you know," he says, instead. Hoping to the Black City and back that he does. "I realise it isn't the same, but… I've had self-destructive tendencies since I was a child. I was born into a life of luxury, with magical skill that made me the envy of my peers, never mind my subordinates. By all accounts, I should have been happy. Certainly _content_. Everywhere you go, people are starving, people are living entire lives without any kind of fulfilment, and I was handed a free pass for the whole thing on a silver platter. But it wasn't enough. So yes. I know it's not the same. But… I understand. I understand needing purpose. And… I understand not having it."

A pause. To breathe, and to try to halt the sudden tremor in his hands, as he tries to ask the question he doesn't want to ask.

"Do you… still… feel any of that? I know you've gone back to the Chargers, and you're talking about a life with me, but… do you?"

Bull shakes his head. Fiercely. A little, ragged sound as he tries to clear his throat, and then laughs, because… it's so ridiculous.

"Kadan… I have never, ever lied to you. I have held things back, but I have _not_ lied to you. When I said I – when I said I wanted to follow you to Tevinter, it wasn't because it would be dangerous. It was because I wanted to be _wherever you are_. And you want to **do** something. Something I can believe in. I…"

Fuck. He shoves his face into Dorian's shoulder, curses something guttural and unintelligible, and then lifts his head to wipe his eye with the heel of his hand. " _No_. I don't. It was – it was _horrible_. But it's… gone. And… I didn't want to tell you because I didn't… didn't want you to feel pressured by… by how I'd react if you…"

Said no. Left. Didn't want. He bites his lip nearly bloody. "Before. Before we even… I saw how you were _determined_ to make the world better, even when it fucking kicked you in the teeth. Worse. And – and if someone like you – who could have had almost everything if you just played nice – if you could jump on a horse and ride south… then the world was worth being in. And the damned war was as foolish as I thought. And… and maybe I could help, too. I had… I had a reason to do things, again, and… maybe I won't ever make the difference that you can, but… I can help you do it, and love you for it." 

He forces himself to look Dorian in the eye. "You asked me if it was all a game – a lie – a play. No, but I… didn't tell you every bit of the truth. Not because I didn't trust you, but… because I didn't want to put that on your shoulders, too. I didn't want you to feel you _had_ to let me in. I didn't want to manipulate you, I just… wanted to be what you needed. I wanted to follow you, and… make you happy. Because you _deserve_ it. Because I believe in you, and… because you were everything _I_ needed."

Dorian kisses him. It's the kind of kiss that can't be held back, that can't be resisted, because he needs to do it so badly. His heart is suddenly breaking in the strangest way, and _that's_ a new sensation too, because he's sure you can't even feel something like this unless you actually love someone enough. Which he never has before.

When the kiss finally breaks, he keeps his hands on Bull's face, staring down at him. "I am sorry that my trust in you wavered last night," he says, very softly. "I was out of my head, yes, but that's no excuse. I'm sorry if it made you feel… well, of course it made you feel… but I'm especially sorry if you thought you had to tell me _everything_. You don't. You _can_ , of course you can, and I'll hold every word close, but you don't _have_ to. And if you do… then we carry it together."

He's shaking, though, because he realises that if he'd turned Bull down in that clearing, there's a significant risk neither of them would be here right now. And that's… that's a thought which hurts, all the way to his core.

"I love you," he says. "And… I will give you purpose for the rest of our lives. I promise you. You gave it to me too. I may not have been on the brink when I set out on this insane journey… but I _was_ desperate. Desperately alone, desperately frightened, desperately convinced I'd have to fight the one man who _had_ ever given me purpose in life. I just hid it well, even from myself. And now… now I feel like I have a chance. Like _we_ have a chance. So… remember that. And remember me saying yes in that clearing. Without hesitating. Without regret. Because I _chose_ to."

Saying these things is almost not real. Bull can feel the words falling out, but the sensations in his head, his heart… it's almost too big, too bright. It's against everything he's supposed to be, or do… and isn't that just the description of who he is around Dorian? He can't take any of the words back, and he doesn't want to. At. All. 

"I love you, too. So much so I'm _shitting_ myself how much. But… you were born to lead, you know. You ran from it… because it's fucking scary. I know… terrified me all the time. Every time I lead people into battle. Every time we lost someone… but you _were_ meant for it. And I want to be there, with you. I want to help you fight. And I want to help you come home, and have something to come home _to_. It… I never needed to – I never needed you to be my slave, not the way the world sees… I – I needed you to be _happy_."

Bull feels that hit, and chokes a little. "We could stop that tomorrow and I wouldn't be upset. If you suddenly didn't like it, or didn't want to, even if it was forever. It wouldn't hurt me. _You_ are the thing that matters, not the how, or even the why. Just… your smile."

It's ridiculously saccharine, or sounds it, but it's entirely sincere. 

"As for… me telling you: you should know. You should know who I am, or how do you know you made the right choice? I have… been what other people wanted, or demanded… for so long. I didn't know who 'I' was. Not like you did… not like you _do_. You had that… the sense of what you needed and believed in, and… maybe I'm only shaped by who or what I fight for, maybe I'm the fluid that fills the glass I'm in… but I didn't _want_ that glass. And I _do_ want this. You." Breath. In. Out. " **Us**. I need you to know… I need _me_ to know… and I – I needed to know it was your choice, not because I tricked you, or trapped you. But how could you love me, really love me, if I didn't even know who I was? That… is why you name me. Not who I should be, but… who I _am_."

"Of course it was my choice," Dorian answers, gently. "Have you met me? I don't do _anything_ unless I want to. And I knew you were genuine. I knew it, probably even when I was still afraid of you. I knew you were _more_. It's part of why I kept poking and prodding. Yes, OK, I was also trying to escape, but… I rarely wasted time doing that to the damn templar. You, on the other hand… I couldn't resist. Not because I had no choice, but because I chose not to."

"And you do make me happy. _Desperately_ happy. Don't you see that? I was Tevinter's most fabulous disaster, running off to the south without any kind of real plan, after an upbringing consisting mostly of fuckups and fires, often literally. And now? Now I'm talking about going home and building a _life_ , like… like some kind of _responsible adult_. And that's because of you."

He smiles, and kisses the other man; more gently this time. "I love the things we are, and I love the things we do. I love our ridiculous games and our overactive imaginations. I don't want any of it to stop. But I don't _need_ it. I _need_ **you**."

Bull grabs hold of his hair, suddenly _fierce_. Fierce in that 'fuck no I don't want to die' way. In that 'this is so important I forgot how to words' way. In that 'I need to do something, because I feel too much, and if I don't do something I might explode into a fireball myself and burn down every Chantry in Thedas' way. 

It isn't about control, or power, or getting what he wants, or needs. It's about loving this man so insanely that everything else becomes pretty much immaterial. Background noise. It just. Isn't, and this – him – this is. 

" **Kadan**." He is sure he's broken clean in two, and then he's still, somehow, intact. Even though the pain is like being ripped through by _qamek_. "Kadan. I. **Love** you. I – I want – _**need**_ you. If I'm sure of nothing else about me, it's that." 

Games, stories, roles, houses, farms, plots… they can all change, or fade, or leave. It's him, and it's him in a way that means Bull knows what certainty is. It's light in the way that shows him who he is, because now he knows what it is to want, and believe, and think, and feel, and be sure. 

No wonder Dorian was afraid, on some level, of who he was. _So was Bull_. And now – having confessed, having let him know – he realises… it's okay. He isn't who he worried he was. Because this matters. He matters. They matter. Because everything else could change, and they wouldn't, not to one another. 

"I'll make you the finest fucking home you ever saw. All the books. All the wine. I'll give you the life you deserve. I'll break the world in two, if it's what needs to happen to make you happy. Because that's when _I'm_ happy. You are my _heart_ , my **soul** and my **_reason_** and I never, ever, ever want to let you doubt that again." He grabs Dorian's hands, and pushes them into the bed. 

"Your amatus would very much like to make love to you," Bull says. "He wants… he wants you to see all of him. He wants… _this_. And he does _not_ want to die, not ever. Because he found _you_." 

Part of Dorian – a large part – is more than ready to give himself over to this. The increased positivity helps. As does the whole being-pinned-down thing. Yes. That helps a lot. And it is certainly not like he doesn't want it.

But… things feel unfinished, like the other man is avoiding them, and though Dorian knows it isn't deliberate, he's also sure it won't help in the long run. In the short run, yes, because amazing sex. And Bull always feels better after amazing sex. But… it's like trying to deal with demons by simply killing them as they run at you. It _will_ work in the short-term, but unless you close the Fade rift, the damn things will just keep coming.

And he wishes he'd said that out loud, because it's a good metaphor. Except Bull is unsettled by demons, so maybe it's better to keep the thoughts in his head, for once.

If he doesn't initiate something now, however, Dorian knows he too will quickly be lost to the amazing sex. _Especially_ because pinning him down is a great way to make him shout 'oh Maker, yes please' and forget the rest of the world exists.

A pause. A breath. Dorian dislikes using the same trick too many times when he could encourage variety, but the simple truth is that there are very few ways to stop a Qunari from pinning you down, and most are out of the question because they involve near-lethal force. So he's left with the one he showed Bull that amazing night in the safehouse: a moment of sudden strength and force drawn via his mana and expelled in a quick movement; a planted knee and a flip.

And they roll, unavoidably sharp and rough, so that Bull is on his back with Dorian on top of him. He quickly plants his knees either side of the other man's hips, and uses their still-joined hands to pin the other man in his stead.

And desperately hopes this isn't a terrible idea.

" _Kadan_ ," he breathes, echoing Bull's swap of their terms of endearment. "I want that too. Very, very much. But there are things you need to hear first. Otherwise this pain and doubt will never go away."

Strangely, Bull isn't unsettled by the move. He knows – has always known – that his position of power is tenuous, and that he controls by consent. At least on the material, practical side of things. Dorian is _powerful_ and Bull has never once forgotten it.

Well, not when it came to their interactions. Possibly when it's the terrified 'what if a templar comes along and he's in danger' way. But that is entirely, entirely different. That's about protecting, and not about controlling. 

He doesn't look hurt, but he does look confused, and maybe a little wary. It wasn't enough? He didn't – he didn't convince him? He told him everything he could think he might possibly have been holding back… if there's anything else, he's not aware of it. Not right now. (Is he? Did he forget something? Is there some other secret that's even secret from himself?)

"…what… what is it?" 

"Listen to me," Dorian says, soft, yes, but sure and controlled too; the kind of tone to leave you in no doubt that he would have made a very good magister. "You think you tricked me into this. You think you _manipulated_ me into this, instinctively, without even realising you were doing it. You think your Ben-Hassrath training kicked in, and let you turn me into something you could use, or control, or – Maker – just keep for fun. Now I don't think that's the case at all. Right from the start, I was _clearly_ willing, and you could have gotten whatever you wanted without spilling your heart and soul to me immediately after fucking my brains out. And you know that's true. You know I would have been _easy_ to control through sex alone… but you wanted it to be more than that. That's how I knew for sure you were different. You got _more_ invested after the sex, not less."

Pause. Breathe. Don't fuck this up, Dorian.

"But let's say I'm wrong. Let's say you _did_ do it to manipulate me into this. Let's say your instincts and your training kicked in, and without even planning to, you played me just right to get me to fall for you, to tell you everything. If you didn't do it because you were ordered to, and you continue to have no ulterior motives – which let me reassure you I believe is true – then why does it matter? You're happy. I'm happy. Neither of us is secretly plotting against the other. This is real, no matter how it started."

Bull's mouth opens to answer, then snaps shut as he is – for once – rendered without answer. He squints, trying to work it through, chasing the tail of the dragon around and around, looking for some bolt-hole or trap. 

He isn't planning anything untowards. And he wouldn't betray him. And… "But… how do I know it's 'me' you… how do I… if I change who I am, whenever I need…"

Bull huffs, and frowns. "…because I'm… doing it because… I want to? Not because someone made me? Kadan… I've… I've never… I've never _done_ that, before. You… you were brave and knew what you wanted. I was a coward, and I let them… I let them twist me… I – I--" 

Say it. Say it. His mouth is full of angry, impotent bees. "… _I hate what they made me, what they made me do_. And – and the thought I might have done it to you… I don't want to be that man. But I still don't know… what I am without it." 

He knows the access points to the room. Knows where he'd put an assassin. He's worked out where he could conceal any contraband. He knows how to get to the horses with his eyes closed. He's got five exit strategies and twelve next steps and it's there, always, before he even knows he's done it. "I just want--" You. Slippers. Dragon fights. Mad sex. He tries to visualise it all, but it's shifting, changing, and the only constant is one Tevinter altus. Which is almost too much to bear. "How do I make it stop? How… how do I prove it to us both? What do I _do_?" 

It's a blind spot, and he doesn't like those. They are dangerous. Lethal, even. Beyond lethal. Bull always knows what to do. 

"That's just it, amatus," Dorian replies, gently. "You don't have to. Or… you already did. And what went before… who you _were_ … I know you hate it. And if it's something you want to talk about more, we can do that. But you're not that person now. You wouldn't do those things now, would you? If one of your superiors burst into this room and ordered you to kill me – a _bas_ , a Vint, a _**mage**_ , who you were taught to hate – would you do it?"

He knows the answer. The fact that he knows the answer is right there in his eyes. He's not looking for confirmation, or reassurance. No. He's doing what Bull does. He's making him say it, because he needs to.

"If you hadn't already set him on fire, _I would_. And then ask you to fucking well do your necromancy shit so I could set him on fire **again**." Bull's furious at the question. Not that Dorian's asked it, but at the very concept that some Qunari would want Dorian injured in the slightest. 

" _No one_ is going to hurt you, if I'm around. Not and live. And the only way _I_ will hurt you is if I'm an idiot, not because I **want** to."

He's still thinking of all the imaginative ways he could either tell this imaginary Ben-Hassrath to go fuck themselves, or maybe make them do it. He does not look happy as he works through them, one by one. 

Dorian lets go of Bull's hands and cups his face instead. "And there's your answer. You wouldn't. You wouldn't even consider it for a second. Which I already knew, of course, but you needed to hear yourself say it."

"There's a difference between abilities and motivations, amatus. Between act and intent. You can do the things you can do because you were taught how, and because you were put into a situation where you had no choice. Now you do have a choice, and those skills are merely tools at your command. You could use them to manipulate and deceive, yes. Or… you could use them to make me scream the roof off in unadulterated bliss. Multiple uses. Same tool, different outcome. You're not guilty of the former, just because you chose to do the latter."

"It's… like magic. Magic is a tool. I could use it, right now, to make you come like you've never come before. I could _also_ use it to burn the building down. What you _can_ do doesn't matter. What you _actually_ do is what counts."

"…so… you're saying getting married to an exceptional spy is… good for your sex life?" Bull offers a little smile, trying to show he's relaxing, and listening. Because it is true. Just like magic doesn't make Dorian evil, his own talents don't need to define him. 

"Even if sometimes I'm an idiot and hold things back? I don't _mean_ to. I'm – I'm _not_ a liar… it's just… some things were too dangerous… or I didn't think you'd want to hear." A weaker smile. "I thought you'd be disgusted by the reality of it. _I_ am."

"Why?" Dorian pushes, but not unkindly. "Why would I be? You have an incredible skillset, which you have removed from the Qun's grasp and now use to benefit others, whilst living a life that makes you happy. Why is that bad?"

He leans in closer, so they're almost nose-to-nose, eyes full of sincerity. Open like a book, so the other man can be sure he means it all.

"And… you can tell me anything. But you don't have to tell me _everything_. You're not a liar just because you didn't recount every detail of your life, the moment we got close. I'm sure _I_ haven't told you everything yet, and I talk a _lot_."

"Because not everything I _did_ … because I wish I _hadn't_." All those years on Seheron. All the blood spilt. Qunari, Vint, and anyone who got in the way of either. That… that had been the worst. Since then, maybe not so much he's not proud of, but definitely then. "You got drunk, pissed off other Vints, and shagged. I did not."

Well. "Okay, so I did, but I also did things that weren't those." 

And he hasn't yet worked out how he gets beyond that, though maybe stopping Corypheus could start evening out the scales. 

"I know you wish you hadn't," Dorian tells him. "I also know you were manipulated into doing it through a _lifetime_ of indoctrination. And whilst you can't change what happened, you _can_ change what _keeps_ happening, going forwards."

"And yes," he adds, smiling now, "getting married to an exceptional spy _is_ good for my sex life. Plus you're smart enough to keep up with me, which is a significant bonus."

"If you keep saying things like that, I am going to do the thing you said I wasn't supposed to be doing," Bull points out, at the response. "And I'm not just smart enough… I'm _vigorous_ enough." 

Dorian kisses Bull's jaw. " _More_ than vigorous enough," he agrees. "And I didn't say you weren't supposed to do it. I said you needed to talk to me first. Besides… which one of us usually ends up on top..?"

He's openly flirting now, yes, but still gently. Not wanting to push for anything, but wanting to make it quite clear that his feelings haven't changed.

Bull turns his head to one side, an exaggerated pout pushing his lower lip all the way out. And an overly-thick voice when he replies. "…maybe _I_ could do with a little manipulation. You know. Devious, beautiful, cunning mage… might help convince me you're the _equal_ in the relationship if you _make_ me throw you down and bugger you blind…" 

Because of course he wants to. And of course he will. But a little teasing and tempting and fake-resistance might be enjoyable first. "Maybe I'm respectful of your chastity. Want to wait for our wedding night."

Dorian gives him a flatly-amused look. "I think you may have already done away with any possibility of that…"

Then he leans in closer, so he can speak right into Bull's ear. It's the _best_ way to share verbal filth, after all. "Besides," he goes on, downright _sultry_ now, "you _know_ I'm not chaste. I like it _rough_ , I like it _**hard**_ … and there's only one man in the world who can give it to me _just_ the way I need it…"

A hand pushing between them, finding Bull's cock and giving him slow, _slow_ strokes as he speaks. "…slammed down over the nearest flat surface, a hand pressed to my mouth to stop people hearing the screams of shameless pleasure as you take what you want from me… or flat on my back in a bed dishevelled by _hours_ of ravaging, exhausted from it all but still begging you not to stop, because I need you so badly I'll let you _break me_ rather than call a halt to it…"

His other hand moves to rest on Bull's hip. It's subtle, with the stroking as a distraction, but he knows the other man is extremely vigilant so he makes it seem as innocuous as possible.

"And let's not forget just how much I can make it worth your while," Dorian goes on. "Not simply by letting you use my clearly _delicious_ body as your personal plaything, but also… because I can give you sensations you've never had before…"

Magic pulses from the hand on Bull's hip, creating the illusion of something thick and hard sliding into his ass. Illusory in that nothing is _actually_ there, but the feelings will be very real; accompanied by carefully-timed bursts of hot and cold designed to feel _very_ good, and _very_ … motivational.

You always keep your best card for last, after all.

" _Vashe-basara_!" Bull bucks under the sensation, not expecting Dorian to go that far, that fast. But very, very pleased with it. He _likes_ knowing it's most assuredly wanted, even if they sometimes play that it isn't. Dorian making it no secret at all just… fries something in his head, burns up the trickle of apprehension and has him humping Dorian's fist like it's the only thing he's ever needed. It just might be.

He doesn't know whether he should push back on the sensation, or if it will stay if he moves, but Bull knows if your Vint makes you feel damn good… you should repay the favour. It's only fair.

And a horny Dorian makes for a horny Bull. And then some.

He flips them over, and grabs for Dorian's hands, slamming them above his head. "Here was me wanting to be respectful. Ask your father for his blessing. Build a home for you and court you slowly. Walk you around fragrant gardens. Take you out for nice meals. Read you poetry. Woo you." 

Bull would still, of course, do all of this. And likely most of it he will. But it's part of a game, a game where they want all of it, and why should they settle for only one version of happy? 

"I thought you wanted a gentleman… but it turns out you want a _brute_." 

He keeps those hands pinned, and then ruts against him, firmly. Echoes his trick, coming in close and sultry. "…and if I tied you up? So you were physically helpless? It wouldn't tie up your magic, would it? It'd just be… harder to use? You'd have to _work_ for it?" 

Dorian looks wholly delighted, and he doesn't resist in the slightest as the other man pins him down. "I want _both_ ," he answers. "Ben-Hassrath in the streets… Tal-Vashoth in the sheets…"

A smirk. He is bad. He knows he is bad. But it's _affectionate_ bad, so it's OK.

The proximity makes his mind go hazy, and it's clear he _loves_ that too. "That's right," he answers. "Some things would be extremely difficult, bordering on impossible. Others… would not, with a little effort."

A flick of one finger, against the ones holding him down, and that hotcoldpressure is back again, and a little more vigorous this time. "It _will_ tire me out faster, though," he adds, looking wicked. "Especially if I _do_ have to work for it. I can only imagine what you'd do to me when I got too exhausted to keep going…"

"Take you to all the respectable places… take _you_ in **every** disrespectable place… I can be your doting suitor. And then rip open the fine clothes I buy you, because I _need_ to defile you as much as I treat you divine…" Bull bites at his lip, and then pushes a fat, thick tongue into his mouth to pulse in synch with the pressure building in his ass. His hips twitch against it, riding the sensation, and then he pushes Dorian _down_ with one hand on his ribs that can't readily be resisted.

The ropes from before aren't far, and Bull's hands are rather too quick to wrestle Dorian's up, and wind around to leave them strung up on the metal frame of the headboard. 

" _Kadan_. I thought you said you were _magisterial_ stock. Are you telling me you'd be bettered by a common bed-slave? Don't you have _any_ pride? You think you can cure _asala-taar_ , but a little rope and brute force fucking is too much for you?"

He climbs off the bed, only to get more rope. This time it's around ankles, with a small amount of slack to each of the corners of the bed. And then he's kneeling between Dorian's thighs. "If you're really my equal, then you'll be able to get me off with just your magic, as many times as I can get you off with my hands and mouth. Why don't we see who really is superior, then? And the winner gets to pick how the loser is punished…" 

Dorian doesn't fight the binding, even a little, because it feels _far_ too good. He gives a tug on the ropes once they're in place, though, just to test the strength of them.

"I don't have to justify myself to you," he says, easily, and from his tone, he almost tacked a _'peasant'_ to the end of the statement. Almost. He is not actually suicidally stupid, despite appearances to the contrary. "But if you want to be _thoroughly_ defeated by a man bound to the bed… well, who am I to deny you the pleasure?"

And this time, it isn't posturing. This time he really does think he can win… and he just might try to.

"Shall we, then?" he adds, the duellist in him suddenly coming to the fore… but he doesn't wait for an answer, and instead starts making the invisible pressure in Bull's ass move. _Quickly_. He allows the man a moment to adjust – because he doesn't want to cause genuine harm – and then shifts his concentration to the sparks, which start to pass between them at every point where their bodies touch. It is _difficult_ to do the two things at once, but it's the multi-tasking that's tricky. The magic itself is easy.

But you have to warm-up somehow.

That's better. That's the kind of fight Bull thinks you should have, where you're fighting to see who can give the most _pleasure_. And one where – for once – they might actually be able to hit an equal playing field. Plus, whoever loses had a damn good time.

Wars would probably be over a lot faster if they had single combat champions doing this. He can imagine the petitions now…

"Yeah, but you're forgetting the part where – even though you like being the smartest, the 'best' in the room… _you also really fucking love it when you're not_." Bull cracks his neck, flexing his chest, making a show of not doing anything other than enjoy the sensations (and yes, he is. Very much so. Unashamedly.)

"Tingles," he declares, and then grabs hold of Dorian's cock and _lifts_. With a tight grip, so the man's hips hoist off the bed, and his dick is locked in his palm. 

Which leaves his ass ready for access, and for a finger that does nothing more than rub right behind his balls. Over. And over. And over. "…you might have whored your way through Thedas, little man, but you don't have my physical conditioning. I _will_ outlast you. You'll peak, and you'll flag, and you'll beg me, before I'm done. I'll drown you in our come, and then? When you think you're about to pass out?"

A dry finger pushes into his still-slightly-sticky hole. "I'll fold you in half, a hand on your neck, at just the right height for me. And I'll fuck you for what feels like _hours_ , because I'll be in the zone. I won't need to climax for some time, but I'll drag every nerve ending to the ends of the earth and back again. _Twice_."

Dorian's eyes roll back in delight, but his concentration doesn't waver. In fact, you could be forgiven for thinking he'd done the magical side of this before… even if some of those times were to himself.

"What you're saying, amatus," he starts out, already sounding a little out of his head, "is that I win either way."

Because he does, after all. But then again, they both do. That's why it's so good.

He may not be able to use his hands to full effect, but physical contact of any kinds helps to control the sensations he can create, and where they land. Deciding he'd better go big whilst his brain still works, he starts wrapping the other man in chains of light that seem to grow out from the points of contact and spread across his body. It's showy, yes – what else would you expect from him? – but practical too, because the lines allow him to channel other magic along them. Like… _cold_ , to counterbalance the heat in Bull's ass, which thrusts harder and faster, almost in time with Dorian's racing heartbeat.

"That was the _plan_ , kadan," Bull agrees with the shit-eatingest of grins. "That's why we're _made_ for each other."

Bull is not shy about the noises he makes. It's thrilling, if utterly deviant, to know that he's not being touched by anything other than Dorian's pure willpower, and control over the invisible forces he can't really comprehend. It's utterly _filthy_ , and knowing how horrified the whole of the Qunari would be to know it? Just makes it all that much hotter. 

"That's right… come on, you beautiful, _terrible_ treasure… don't you **dare** hold back… put your magic where your mouth is… if it's so powerful, if you're really what you say you are… you'll make me come all over you whether I want to or not…"

Half-praise, half-taunt, and there's not an ounce of shame or worry in Bull's voice. He's _revelling_ in Dorian's obvious skill and ease, just as he angles his finger in and up, and then moves his hand so gravity drops Dorian's ass onto his palm. His cock isn't abandoned for long, though, because smiling lips envelop it on the way down, until it's sliding into his throat and riding the tongue that works it with well-practiced ease. 

That makes Dorian launch into a string of barely-coherent Tevene, bucking up against Bull's mouth and blatantly chasing _more_ , because it really is too good to resist. And he wants it. All of it. Hard. _Now._

Though he _also_ wants to make the other man scream, or… roar? That's more like the Qunari equivalent. It's hot, whatever it is. A flick of his fingers, and those glowing lines of magic spread further, up and around Bull's cock, pulling sensation with them: hot, and cold, and sparks of static pitched to be just on the _good_ side of pain.

And yes. He _can_ fuck Dorian whilst Dorian is doing that to him. Which is _precisely_ what Dorian is hoping for.

"Beautiful and terrible, am I?" he says, with a sultry smile that's only slightly counterbalanced by how hazy with pleasure he already sounds. "Oh, amatus, you don't know the half of it…"

The magical pressure currently fucking Bull's ass suddenly slows… and then _splits_ , and slams back in now feeling like he's being taken by two cocks at once. And yes, Dorian could just have made the one feel bigger… but this is more interesting, and somehow more deviant. And therefore _much_ more fun.

Bull has experienced a lot of sensations, but these are certainly new. And if tying him up and provoking him with challenges is what it takes to make Dorian let loose… he will do it all the more. His control does go for a moment – evidenced by the sudden choke over the cock down his throat – and then he's got three, lube-sticky fingers to ram in, making sure he's actually ready for what he intends to do. 

With very, very, very deliberate focus, Bull clamps his jaws down, using his teeth to apply pressure to the precious thing he's currently gagging on, and then purr-rumbles as he drags said teeth up and off, letting his prick flop wetly against his belly. 

"If I don't, _show_ me. I want to see _everything_ you can do. I want to fuck the magic right out of you, into the air, and then keep on fucking you until you can't be sure you're awake or not. And then hold you… while I fuck you some more."

Mostly, he wants him. Bent, twisted, folded, tied, cuddled, held… everything. 

He pulls the ropes – slackening the ends around the end of the bed – but then he pushes each leg back, and lashes them to the top posts instead. Leaving Dorian bent in half, stretched and spread, and back to being fingered roughly. Bull spits on his fingers, then angles them up and in. " _Show_ me. Show me why you're so proud. Show me what it is _I'm_ proud of. Show me why the little Qunari grow up to fear you." 

He always has to push for more, doesn't he? It's one of the many (many) things about Bull that Dorian finds irresistible. Most people, when presented with the kind of things Dorian is doing right now, collapse into a pleasure-soaked heap, or at very least stop inciting him to do anything further. But Bull? Bull has to push, to chase more, to chase _everything_ , and Dorian loves that about him.

It is very, very hard to concentrate with those fingers in his ass, slamming into places that make Dorian's toes curl, and his mind threaten to white-out just so it can ride the bliss to breathless completion. But having a challenge also focuses that same mind, and helps him keep his head above the mental water.

He knows he's going to have to do more, though. Not just keep up the things he's already doing, but add something further to the mix. He's going to be _exhausted_ when this is over, but it will have been worth it. And then some.

More lines of that magical force begin to form, but in midair this time, snaking unstoppably around Bull's wrists and then _pulling_ backwards (which has the side-effect of dragging his fingers back out of Dorian, causing quite a gasp in the process) and up… so the man is still on his knees on the bed but now held as if his arms were bound, spread, above his head.

"Now _that's_ quite a sight," Dorian purrs, looking up at him with a glimmer in his eyes. "Do you have a watchword of your own, amatus, or would you like to borrow mine..?"

Oh… Bull _likes_ that. It shows him just how powerful, wicked and devious Dorian is. And for a long moment, he decides he can revel in the sensations. The invisible touches around and inside, making his buttocks tighten and his thighs tense and thrust, trying to fuck into a hand that isn't there. He flexes, tenses, trying to see how strong the hold is… and because Dorian will get to see his powerful, muscular form at full tilt, fighting the grip and able to _push_ without any fear of hurting either of them. 

"Mmm… I do. In theory. No one ever came close to putting me in a position I'd consider needing it." Partially because, without magic, there would be very few people he wouldn't just be able to punch through a wall, or snap his way out of whatever he was in. But more seriously, because he simply would not have allowed anyone else the remotest access to the parts of him that would allow for it to be needed. 

"Are you looking to find it? Are you wanting to hunt for it… or simply reassure yourself? Because I don't see it as a goal, but something to avoid." Shamelessly, he squirms, rolling into the touches, wondering if Dorian can 'see' everything he's doing, or if he just sees Bull humping and grinding like a fool. "You can. If you want to. Or you could _use_ me, if you prefer. **Make** me bugger your brains out… I don't think you have what it takes to break me." 

Which is a very considered gauntlet. "You'd wear yourself out. Or you'd be missing my contribution. How long would you be _able_ , let alone willing?" 

"I was merely being responsible," Dorian replies, which _is_ true, but the real point was the smugness of the line. "And I have _no_ desire to break you. I like being on the _receiving_ end of that, remember? But I _do_ want to win this little competition of ours…"

He's fully aware that he can't keep this up for long. Even with his training, and a mana pool to rival the stamina of a man like… well, Bull… he'll lose it eventually. Collapse. Exhausted. _Helpless_. This is why he knows he'll win, in one form or another, because either option will be wonderful.

"Besides, I'm not stopping you from screwing me senseless," he adds. "I was careful to make sure your hips and cock remain unimpeded. You'll just have to get creative…"

"Then… _Ser_ ," Bull drawls, "I have one request to ask, before I do." There is absolutely zero deference in that tone, as he spreads his legs wider, continuing to flex and grind. "And then I'll tell you. _And_ give you what you _need_."

"Oh please, no need to stand on ceremony," Dorian says, before he can stop himself. Very much conscious of the fact that he's _seriously_ asking for it, when the other man gets free. "What's your request? I am feeling generous today…"

In the meantime, he allows himself a moment to admire the sight of the other man, snaked in glowing magic and looking simply _magnificent_. And even if Bull never lets him do this again, it will have been worth it for the memories alone.

"Move my hands so I can grip my horns." Bull arches one brow. "And, for the record: it's _veata_." Which is Dwarven, because he's unlikely to slip into that by accident, unlike his myriad other tongues. And because Dwarves are about as far from his realm of reference as it's possible to get. 

And because he literally just made it up now, because there's not a chance he'd have ever let anyone put him in a position where one might be needed, and if he did, he would have let himself be shattered before giving himself the way out. Bull isn't sure he'd use it, or not, or if he'd just accept whatever Dorian wanted to try… but he knows you _should_ have one. And it's as much to comfort them both and reassure them both as it is to serve a safety net. 

Dorian nods. He really has no desire to chase the word, but it's irresponsible to do things to a person that are – technically-speaking – against their will without one. And whilst he is capable of being _very_ bad if he wants to be, he's not an inconsiderate lover.

"Very well," he says, and gives another (slightly over-dramatic) flick of the fingers, moving Bull's hands to his horns. Which… OK, that's hot too. Especially when he makes the lines of glowing magic spread down his arms and around said horns, framing the top of his head like a glittering coronet.

" _Beautiful_ ," Dorian purrs. "Now… let's see what gives out first: your will, or my magic…"

Bull's laugh echoes through the room, bouncing off the walls. He makes another show of flexing everything in his power, and then walks on his knees to settle snugly against Dorian's lifted ass. With both hands and feet bound, the mage is _physically_ helpless, and Bull knows removing his own hands from play was somewhat against the rules of engagement. But it's _fun_ , because it's challenging, and it means he has to use just his lower body to get into position. With some effort, he wriggles his larger cock to nestle alongside Dorian's, and then starts to dance his hips back and forth, frotting very happily. 

"Mmm. You like seeing me tied up, too? You'd have to use magic. You wouldn't be able to do it with anything else. Only… mana drains. Rope doesn't…" He drops his head back, showing off his throat. "Maybe I could get enchanted ropes for _you_ , though… to help, or hinder… you look fucking hot when you're struggling… when you're held in place and helpless… doing it to me just makes me want to break free even _more_ …"

"I _know_ ," Dorian says, lasciviously. "And yes, I do enjoy the sight. But what I enjoy even more is the thought of what you'll do to me when you get free…"

He's not subtle about it. Why should he be? He has no right to be using _quite_ such a controlled tone, though, especially when pretty much folded in half and bound to the bed. But that's all part of the fun.

"You can get enchanted ones. Some just look impressive. Others have… _effects_. Like what I'm doing now, but powered by the enchantment itself so they work indefinitely. And… even ones to suppress spellcasting. We try _very_ hard to make sure the southern templars don't get hold of those, and _no one_ in polite society would admit to using them."

"Good job I'm a terrible brute, then, isn't it?" But he does cock his head in a 'would you' query, without asking. As whilst it might well be fun, it's also reminiscent of things Dorian did not enjoy, and which had been… nearly fatal. 

Bull suddenly drops forwards, only stopping when his horns hit the headboard. Which means he can use his weight over Dorian's hips, grinding circles, purring at the morass of sensations. "Maybe that's something, too… you go out to capture a Qunari… for whatever nefarious purpose… but he proves too much and he breaks free and then you're _his_ nefarious purpose… and he'll be **so** enraged… ahhh, kadan… do you miss it? Do you miss people able to touch you with magic? Should I buy enchanted toys to tease you, before I plough you through the bed?"

His mouth can reach, so he starts to suckle on throat and jaw, marking his dusky skin with determined aggression. 

That makes Dorian whimper with delight, arching up as much as he can to get _more_ , and moaning absolutely shamelessly when Bull's lips hit just the right spot.

"Sometimes I do," he answers, when his brain works enough to form sentences. "As you're discovering, there are some _very_ creative uses. But… I also like being the only one who can do it. Makes me feel… special."

Also, a lot of his former bedmates were non-mages anyway, on account of being… well. Lower-class. The kind of taverns he used to frequent on his bad days weren't exactly high-end.

And then he grins. "I like that thought… because the more I wind you up, the more I'll get to enjoy when the tables turn."

Mmmmm. Yes. He can be _very_ provocative when he wants to be.

"I'd be happy to… and maybe I steal some of your own enchanted toys and use them against you… before I decide the best thing to do is use my own two hands to hold you in place… or drive you over my dick…" Bull slaps fiercely into him, the sensations arcing over and inside of him almost too much. "…maybe bind you up in those ropes so you're going nowhere, so I can use you to stroke over my cock like you're just a wriggling cock-sleeve… maybe you should be punished more, though, for the terrible thoughts…"

Bull has no hands, but he does have his mouth. And he can close his jaws around Dorian's shoulder, just away from all the delicate arterial work, biting in sharply to bruise and crush a specific set of muscles. Nothing that will incapacitate for more than an hour, but something that will hurt like a motherfucker for days. 

That makes Dorian _howl_ in shock, throwing his head back and arching against the sudden, very intense pain. It takes him a few seconds to gather himself, because _fuck_ , that hurt, but he's not beaten yet.

The magical pressures in Bull's ass – both of them – widen a little more and shunt in _hard_ , seconds before Dorian sends a fresh burst of sharp static along the glowing lines criss-crossing his lover's body. He can feel it getting harder to do, though, and he knows he won't be able to keep this up much longer.

But he won't give in, and the determination in his eyes is impossible to miss.

"I have… a great many terrible thoughts… it will take you a long time… to punish me for all of them…" he manages, clearly struggling now.

Bull lifts his slobbery lips and _smirks_. "A long time. And a long cock."

Because it was simply a distraction to make sure he could follow through, and he's gotten just the right angle to push up, and up, and in. Which means his lower back and thighs are working perilously hard, but the pain and difficulty just spike his lust on more. 

The magic-fucking feeling is so damn good, and Bull's riding that back as much as he is slamming in, dancing between shockwaves of pleasure and crests and peaks of touch. He's got Dorian's throat in his mouth – an obvious threat as he purrs into it – sinking teeth into the soft underside. He has to make do with what he has, and what he has is stamina, girth, and brute force. So that's what he settles in to use, his horns pushing into the wall behind the headboard, his neck muscles stabilising him instead of his hands. 

Dorian fights to keep going, his whole body shaking from the effort, and from the very, very rough fucking. Which is _all_ kinds of hot, and were it not for the magic he knows he'd be utterly helpless right now… and when it fades, he actually _will be_ , because this kind of thing takes a while to recover from. Brute force in combat is easy. Intimate precision… is just that. _Intimate_. Complex.

Definitely worth it, though.

He knows, through the haze, that he has two options now: fight for every last second, but ultimately sputter and fade with less elegance, or give one final burst of effort and lose all the magic at once.

Obviously he's not going to win. Obviously, deep down, he doesn't _want_ to win.

But he can still lose with style.

A moment's concentration – which is itself not easy – and then he _flares_ out with all the magic he has left, flooding the other man with as much sensation as he can produce, over and over… and then all of it sparks out into nothingness, disappearing like smoke on a breeze.

And… he's _exhausted_. And completely, totally caught.

"…mercy?" he tries, in a voice that's shaking.

The Iron Bull has not – it's – there's – 

There's fucking, and then there's fucking Dorian, and then there's _whatever in all the colours of dragons was that_?! His hands have dropped from his horns (which, didn't even notice), his balls flop hopelessly on the ripples of previous motion, and he's not sure if he actually spent his load, or if he just felt like it, because those are sensations he's sure he doesn't even have words for.

From the very, very loud and very, very confused (but utterly jubilant) noise he makes, he _definitely_ enjoyed that. His ass is throbbing, but there's nothing there, now, and the other touches are all after-images once you look away from the light. Tingles of memory, and nothing else. But holy crap is his whole body singing, and… he lifts his head to meet Dorian's eyes. 

"Not a drop of it in the whole ocean." His hands are free, now, so Bull pushes one palm over Dorian's throat. Oh so careful to watch the pressure he's applying, oh so sharply focused on one thing alone: Dorian. His safety, but also his pleasure. If Dorian is going to show off, then so is he. Harder, harder, just enough to make him dizzy without passing out. Enough to kick the instinctual panic in, but not so much his reaction is to thrash and bruise his trachea. 

And the other grabs his hip as Bull hits whatever wind he's up to, a berserker-level burst of energy that will do him in almost as much as Dorian's has, chasing the fastest, roughest high for both of them. He's growling, almost furious, as he throws everything he has into pistoning the man bound under him through a bed that's very obviously not going to take much more. 

"I. Will. Own. You. I. Will. Claim. You. I. Will. **Conquer**. _**You**_. And you. Will. _Thank me_." 

He doesn't even touch his mage's cock, knowing he can do enough with just his own. Knowing Dorian loves to be reamed, loves to be filled and taken with as much vigour as he can manage. Bull's vision tunnels down as the sudden rush makes the blood in his ears nearly turn solid under the pressure, as he's spilling with a yell that _no one_ in the town will be able to ignore.

(Well. Dorian isn't that quiet either. So he doesn't care.) 

That… that is just… that is _everything_ Dorian wants right now, all at once. The outright _assault_ of it all (a highly consensual assault, yes, but one nonetheless) makes him feel like he is actually being smashed out of his own head; the sudden head-rush at the hand on his throat making it even more intense.

He can't move. Can't fight. Couldn't resist now, even if he wanted to. Even if he _tried_. All he can do is take, and take, and _take_ , and it's just the right side of too much, and he's so desperately in awe of this relentless, furious force of nature that he feels like he might explode with it.

And the words. _Fasta vass_ , the words go through him as though every one is a spear of lyrium-ice, flaring out through his body and making every inch of him _crave_ like never before. The world goes black and he has no idea if it's the lack of air, the mana-depletion, or the sheer weight of the other man's will… possibly all three at once.

His climax hits a few seconds after Bull's does; the last shunt of his hips being enough to send Dorian tumbling over the edge. And he screams; _oh_ , he screams, in bliss, in pain, in gratitude, in sheer _release_ , as though the other man has smashed him free from a pressure he didn't even realise was there. He doesn't know how he's able to come so hard given everything they've already done this morning – and last night – but apparently he _is_ able to, and then some.

When he's spent, he drops back; so completely exhausted that any part of him not held up by the ropes – or the other man – feels as though it's sinking into the bed beneath him.

"… _yes_ ," he gasps, distant and thoroughly surrendered. "…yours… all yours… give you anything… _anything_ … _**thank you**_ …"

Bull has enough presence of mind to grab the knife he always keeps close when he's using rope, slicing through the two that keep Dorian's legs up, but leaving the ones around his wrists in place. And then he's gripping him, so fiercely his whole torso shakes, holding him to his chest and nigh-on crushing him with the impossibly tender, protective emotions he's overwhelmed by. 

" _Kadan_ ," he purrs, just about able to chase the last few wisps of his strength to rock their joined bodies through to the too-much feelings of right after. "Kadan, you're mine, you're mine, I've got you, I'll take you, keep you, hold you… all mine, all mine." 

He's… it's just that… Bull feels so _deeply_ and **intensely** about everything he feels anything about. But with Dorian, it's somehow amplified a thousandfold and then a thousandfold again, and he can _show_ it and it's _wanted_ and it's… he's… he can **be** who he is and it's not only accepted, but joyfully, eagerly _enjoyed_. He can screw Dorian with every bit of his hunger and passion, and find it met with equal hunger and passion, and…

It just. They work. They work. They _are_ good for each other. Bull does not remember ever feeling as remotely happy as he does, even on his worst days, now.

"I fucking. Love you so much. Won't ever stop. Gonna fuck your brains out like that every damn day. Gonna leave handprints on your wrists, your ass. Gonna fuck you raw and hold you forever. Kadan… _anything_ you want… you win. I win. _We_ win."

Dorian blinks up at him; a hazy, distant, thoroughly fucked-out smile on his face. "I like winning," he manages. "Like you more though…"

He feels utterly drained, but in the very best way possible, and he would like to sleep for a long time, now. In the arms of the man he loves, and who loves him back.

How did this happen? He doesn't know. But it did, and it's real, and it's his. Theirs. Yes.

"Krem is gonna kill us," Bull laughs, as he nuzzles with no restraint. He doesn't need to hide how cuddly he's feeling, or how much he likes this, or how Dorian makes him all stupid and happy and calm and giddy and like he wants to laugh at everything and pick flowers and smash trees down to get the fruit for him. "But I don't care. Don't think I'm gonna let you go five feet away from me all day. Need you, kadan. Need you so damn much." 

Insane little kisses all over his face, then more hugs, then more kisses. And a few more. And a chuckle that makes his cheeks sort of ache, and then more kisses. 

"…read you _so_ many soppy Orlesian poems and filthy Dwarven ones and all the little pastries you can eat and then fuck your brains out and more of that magic shit and some of those ropes and we will need a _really_ big bed, bigger even than Qunari normally have, and I hope you know I am going to need _so_ many sausages at breakfast and if you need me to feed them to you I so will and Krem will hate that even more but I don't care and---"

Bull does not shut up until he gets another kiss, which was probably the point. 

And Krem is, as ever, the one who has to eventually tell them it's time to go. Don't they know they have a world to save?

Still. Has to be worth saving. And Bull is entirely certain it is, now.


	16. Chapter 16

They ride out after a very substantial breakfast. _Very_ substantial, in some cases.

The road they're following remains mostly quiet, with few other travellers. The occasional animal wanders past – a few of them large – but none decides to do anything beyond amble off without causing trouble.

Possibly this is because of the sheer _bliss_ radiating from the Tevinter mage currently lying across Bull's lap, held in his arms; wrapped in a travelling cloak and dozing peacefully. No one is quite sure how Dorian persuaded Bull to let him ride like this, but clearly he did, because they've been like this all morning and into the early afternoon.

It helps, though. Dorian really _is_ exhausted, and between the prolonged bouts of violent sex and far-larger-than-usual magical outbursts – to say nothing of the aftereffects of yesterday's hangover – he feels like he hasn't slept enough in days. And OK, yes, it's because he's been doing some completely _lovely_ things, but there comes a point where it catches up with even him.

Plus, snuggling in Bull's arms and _not_ having to ride a horse after a night and morning of being forcefully fucked really is very nice. And helpful.

No one complains. Possibly this is because a sleepy Dorian is a quiet Dorian.

Bull alternates between glancing adoringly down at the snuggly mage all bundled up in his arms, and propping his chin on his head as if he's trying to wrap him in a secondary blanket made entirely of once-Qunari, now-not-officially-but-in-all-but-name-Tal-Vashoth. 

Because Dorian is warm (and the south isn't), and soft (other things are soft, but inferior), and smells of sexual satisfaction and contentment (others do, to a lesser extent, but none with quite the appeal of the thing he's currently snuffling the hair of) and also a Dorian in his arms means that said Dorian is as safe as it is possible for him to be, really. 

He knows the others are raising eyebrows, but frankly, he's had enough shit in his life and for once he's got a really damn good thing going, and he's going to enjoy every last minute of it. 

Dorian's horse seems happier, too. It knows Dorian doesn't like it, but carrying some packs is much more pleasant, and it ambles alongside Stitches' mount, occasionally whickering in distant satisfaction.

Or maybe it's just that Bull feels like everyone else is happy because he's so happy. Either way, he's happy, so at least two people in the world are, and that's better than it was before they met. 

It's shortly after lunch when Krem starts to sit a little higher in his saddle, and Bull picks up on it before Krem's even realised he's found some cue. Bull doesn't react physically, but he lets his senses reach out, and then his hand goes for Dorian's staff, ready to hand it to him. Another little nuzzle, but this time with a soft: "Kadan?"

"Mmmmmm..?" Dorian murmurs. Dorian likes travelling like this. Dorian could get used to it. Dorian is warm and comfortable and having hazy little half-dreams that are _very_ nice, and…

…that tone sounds off…

"…what is it?" he asks, still distant but awake now.

"Not sure, yet. Thought you might need this," Bull replies, gently placing the staff across his lap for him to take. 

Ahead, Krem clucks his tongue and makes the slight gesture that snaps everyone else's focus sharp. 

"The birds stopped," Bull points out, lowly. "Someone's waiting for us, just ahead." And as they are, the element of surprise won't be more than a few seconds of the enemy realising _the Chargers_ aren't surprised, so it's better to be armed. He helps Dorian sit up better, drawing his glowing axe ready. 

Nothing focuses the mind quite like physical peril. Dorian takes his staff, and – hoping his mana pool is sufficiently recovered – reaches out with his necromantic abilities in search of who…

…of what…

…it…

No. Oh… _no_.

He holds out his free hand and tries to make a simple burst of flame. _Nothing_.

" _Vishante kaffas_ ," he hisses, halfway between fury and terror. " **Templars**."

Bull drags the reins back, hard, his horse protesting the sudden brake and rearing up. " **Fucking templar scum** – Krem!"

"I'm on it."

Thank the stars that his lieutenant knows what he means, because Bull… he never runs from a fight, not ever. Not _from_ it. But he's dragging the horse to point away from the others, and spurring it to start galloping away from the ambush. He's not even really thinking, it's just: _get Dorian away_. 

That's… OK, _really fucking hot_ that a battle-loving warrior like Bull will ride _away_ from combat to protect Dorian. It really is. But right now, the struggle between fury and terror in Dorian's head is still in full-swing, but fury is currently on top.

"We have to _help_ ," he insists. "Keep me at range. Let me down from the horse. If I stay far enough away, I can still be useful."

His heart is racing, but he wants to fight. The trouble is, what he also wants is _revenge_ , and that's not usually a sensible course of action.

Possibly right now he is not feeling sensible.

" _Vashe-qalab_! You're keeping the fucking horse, I'm not letting them _near_ you and horses run faster!" Which is evident by how fast this one is moving as Bull urges it further away from the sound of combat.

Which. Augh! He's _retreating_ from a fight, not really for strategy, but because he's terrified for Dorian. And he's left three of his best people behind – even temporarily – because…

Bull pulls the horse up. "Tell me there's none this way. And don't _think_ about coming too close, or I'll hit this horse so hard it'll be a week before it stops."

He's pulled out his boot knife, pushing the hilt into Dorian's hand. He won't leave until he knows the mage can fight again, and he's clearly _shaken_ by it, because… it's… **fucking templars**. " _Promise me_."

Dorian takes the knife, flicks the blade sideways, and makes a lick of flame shoot along it.

"I can fight at this range. Try to keep them from getting too near to me. I won't be able to cast anything close to them, because one or more of them will dissipate it, but if I set enough things on fire, reality will take hold whether they like it or not."

He says all of this rather fast, clearly shot full of adrenaline and in the 'fight' stage of 'fight or flight'. Also, focusing on the technicalities stops the flashes of memory at the back of his mind…

Bull tries not to find the incandescent metal too attractive, because – later – and swings his feet over and to the ground with a grunt and a thud. And then grabs hold of Dorian's shirt, kissing him brusquely. "Don't you die or I'll work out necromancy for myself."

The axe in his hand twirls, and Bull turns to sprint with a speed that you wouldn't expect from someone of his size. When he wants to, he _really_ moves. And also, incidentally, has a battle-cry that would curdle more than just blood when he gets closer to the seven templars currently besieging his Chargers. 

Dorian bites his lip as he watches the other man race off. He knows how competent Bull is in combat. He really does. But… he can't help worrying. At least the templars will be no more than well-trained warriors to him, rather than the terrible danger they are to Dorian.

How do mages in the south cope with being around them all the time? It must be torture.

He takes a deep breath, sticks the knife in his belt, and brandishes his staff. A whirl, a flick, and he's flinging fireballs at their enemies – or _near to_ their enemies – in the hopes of starting some _actual_ fires. Though if he takes out a templar who doesn't get their spell-purge up in time, that's a welcome bonus.

And _oh_ , but that feels better. Maybe he needs this fight more than he thinks.

"Chief! Welcome back! Buckles?"

"All fine, Krem, hope you left some for me." Bull is all but ready to bite their heads off with his jaws by the time he draws close enough, and he can see how his return has put several of them on the back foot. 

He runs up to Dorian's horse – who won't easily carry him in a combat situation, or not at pace – rips off a saddlebag and hurls it right at the closest member of the phalanx. This not only catches him by surprise, but it also lightens up the horse so when Bull points its nose towards them and slaps its ass, the (understandably) pissed-off animal ploughs through the templars, causing even more chaos.

Chaos which Bull makes full use of, getting in close to slit a saddle-strap and head-butt a guy from the back of his horse. 

Stitches meanwhile is down on his feet, his horse acting as a shield for his back (and also none too happy about it), while Krem rushes after one that's obviously trying to flank them, or get to Dorian. 

Skinner is a blur of movement, her daggers raised and swooshing through the air, and whilst they aren't usually good against people in full plate armour, she clearly knows _exactly_ where the weak points are, and how best to exploit them. _Gleefully_.

And Dorian keeps his distance (which he's used to, because it's pretty standard for a mage in combat) but right now he doesn't like it at all. It _does_ allow him to keep flinging fire at the templars, though, so that helps.

Unfortunately, the templars are not stupid, and when they see a mage at range, their immediate response is to close in. And that's tricky, given the four people attacking them, but seven templars is a lot to corral at once, especially in all the chaos… which is probably how two of them manage to break away from the worst of the fighting, and start charging towards Dorian.

"Chief!" Stitches yells, spotting the out-runners.

" **KADANSHOK DEFRANSDIM VASHEDAN!** "

Few things are as deafening as a Qunari in full battle-rage, short of an avalanche or an actual dragon, and Bull turns full tilt, barely seeming to touch the intermediate angles before he's running after them both. 

The first one gets his axe in the spine, falling sideways off her mount and landing, twitching, in a spreading pool of blood. 

The second one gets a little further, before Bull shoulder-checks their horse's flank, pushing the beast over to a terrified animal screech. It kicks as it goes down, catching him right under the ribs, which is why he only manages to grab a boot of the other templar. A boot which is rapidly shed and left behind. 

He's dizzy from the winding, fighting to get up from the mud, and flinging the last thing he has hold of (the boot) after the fleeing templar.

" **KADAN**!"

Instinct makes Dorian try to attack the (one-booted?) templar now charging at him; staff up and charged with bolts of fiery energy… which fizzle to nothing as the alarmingly tall man gets closer.

" _Kaffas!_ " he curses. "Why can't you southern bastards leave me alone?!"

The templar does not stop, and from the way he's holding his sword, he's not about to attempt any pretense at bringing Dorian in alive. Either Alexius has upped his bounty to a kill-order, or the templars have found what's left of Good Ser Padraig and decided a little revenge is in order.

Possibly both.

Dorian may not be able to use magic, but he _is_ still holding what is in effect a sturdy quarterstaff, so he twists in mid-step to hold it like one, swinging upwards to deflect the sword-blow that's aimed right at him. It works – surprisingly well, in fact – but a second blow follows, and a third, and Dorian knows he'll tire long before the templar does.

"Stand down, mage, and I'll make this quick," hisses a low voice from beneath the full helmet.

Dorian does not dignify this with a response, mostly because he's keeping his entire focus on deflecting the templar's sword, and it's not easy, and if someone doesn't get to him soon he's going to…

…no, no, no…

…and then, very suddenly, the templar slips just slightly on his bootless foot. It's not much, but it's just enough so that when Dorian's staff locks against the sword blade, it's the horned skull on top – and not the main shaft – that catches it. A flick, a twist, and gravity does the rest; sending the templar's sword flying out of his grip and away into the damp grass.

"Not so smart now, are you?" Dorian says, though any smugness in his tone vanishes when the templar draws a dagger… a dagger so like the one Padraig carried that the sight of it makes his stomach lurch. The templar swings in again, and this time manages to catch Dorian's staff with his free hand and yank it right out of his grip.

There's a moment when time stands still. Some kind of instinct makes Dorian's hand go to his belt, where he's got Bull's knife; drawing it and flicking it up. The templar smirks, blatantly unimpressed by such a little thing, and leaps on Dorian, barrelling them both to the ground with Dorian flat on his back, and the armour-clad man on top.

Dorian is sure he's dead. Absolutely sure. He's sure his mind just hasn't processed the blade going into him, the life starting to leak out of him… and then he hears the weird, wet gasp from the man on top of him, and realises what he's done. Somehow, on the way down, he's slipped Bull's knife between two sections of the templar's plate armour, and driven the blade up to the hilt into his side, right through his ribs.

But, to anyone else watching, it's going to look like something else entirely.

Bull is pretty sure he's punctured something vital with his ribs, because there's an awfully coppery taste in his mouth and it's not that easy to breathe. It doesn't stop him struggling to his feet, though it does mean he's not moving very fast because his legs apparently need both blood and oxygen, and his head needs some, and he's not quite sure how a fucking horse can do so much damage. 

He's killed _dragons_. He's not going to let some mistreated nag take him down, even if it--

He can see the clash of metal and wood, the arcs and the parries and the blocks. And one part of his brain is oxygenated enough to admire Dorian's form, even as the other parts scream internally. 

Dorian is holding his own, but he shouldn't _have to_ and how come he has three Chargers held up with five other templars? Don't they know how important this is? 

He's on one knee and not sure if that side is going to keep working, even if he tries to force it to, and he can't – can't – _won't_ let--

He's down. Dorian is down, and the fucking… the templar… 

Bull drags whatever remains of his energy and hurls himself closer, crashing into the mud with a scream that froths his mouth pink, grabbing plate mail and _flinging_ the strangely lifeless body away to…

Dorian? He's still breathing. And holding a bloody knife. Bull clasps his face in two hands, just as hoofbeats from behind signal they aren't alone.

"Chief! Dorian!" Krem dismounts, running up the rest of the way.

Behind, there's only one templar left, and that one is currently unconscious and strung over his own horse, held between the other two Chargers. 

Even though he knows he's not dead, Dorian still looks like he's in shock. He's glad for having the templar's almost-dead body yanked off him, because the man was big even _without_ heavy plate armour. He's aware of Bull crouching over him, looking wounded but clearly alive, and instinct makes him launch upwards, grabbing hold of the man and not letting go.

He's shaking. _Hard_. The adrenaline has very much gone from 'fight' to 'flight' now, even though he's distantly aware that he doesn't need to get away anymore. Plus his heart is racing like he's just run all the way to Minrathous and back.

"I'm… I'm all right," he manages, which is physically true, but blatantly _not_ true in any other sense. "You… you're hurt…"

The magic is back. He can _feel_ it, like suddenly being able to see in colour again. His hand goes to Bull's side, and whilst healing isn't one of his _best_ schools, he _is_ still more than talented enough. Plus, the enchantment on his engagement ring is… whoa, OK, _powerful_ …

Bull's eye widens at the very strange feeling, as things seem to… knit and… oh, he can breathe without his whole chest feeling like there's a mountain on it, suddenly. He takes a gulpy breath in, and then laughs but realises he's making rather a bloody mess of it, and turns his face to wipe the aerated blood onto his shoulder. Which makes him look rather disgustingly sticky, but at least he's no longer choking on things that should have remained internal.

"T-thought that… was supposed to keep _you_ safe," he croaks, getting his voice back. He's still kneeling beside him, holding his face, roving over his expression with a worried one of his own. "Guess you didn't need me, huh?"

Which is meant entirely as a compliment, because he saw him dispatch a templar who he'd only managed to unhorse and de-boot. 

"Field's clear," Krem butts in. "Kept one. Rest dead."

"That's my boy." 

Bull drops his forehead to Dorian's. He wants to say: I thought I lost you. And he wants to say: you terrified the fucking life out of me. And: you probably just saved my life. And: I'm so damn sorry. And… instead, all he can do is pull Dorian in against his (unfortunately now very muddy, sweaty, and blood-streaked) chest, shaking from the post-battle drop. 

Dorian just holds on, still pouring healing magic into the other man until he feels like it must be enough. And then he keeps holding on, because he's coasting a wave of complex emotions and trying hard not to drown in them.

"Do need you," he gasps. "So badly. Don't go."

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_. Don't break down now.

Which is when the rest of the world filters in just enough for him to process Krem's words. "…one of them is still alive..?"

The terror and rage collide again, and suddenly he's trying to stagger to his feet, knife still in hand, covered in blood – albeit none of it his own – and trying to launch himself at the templar. Precisely what he's trying to do, he doesn't even know, because coherent thought is not in control right now.

Bull hasn't processed fast enough, but fortunately Krem uses his breastplate to smack into Dorian, blocking him. "He's out cold. And he's tied up. And he's _useful_."

Half a beat later, Bull hauls himself up to his feet, putting a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "It's alright, kadan. There's five of us, one of him, and you've already established you can kill templars. Let's use them, first."

"…yes," Dorian agrees, hazily. "Yes, you're right… I don't know what came over me there…"

He really doesn't. The last few moments are a blur, as if he's remembering them across the years instead of mere breaths later. He turns back to Bull, momentarily grounded by the hand on his shoulder, and then just kind of collapses against him as a surge of memories hit all at once…

… _Padraig, pinning him to the ground, dagger at his throat… silence in the air as he realises Bull won't find him in time… **terror** at the thought of dying like this…_

Bull turns him, so he's properly shored up, wrapping arms around him and dropping his head over his lover's. A grunt tells Krem to sort the rest of the aftermath up, and give them a moment.

"Hey… hey. Kadan. I know… I know. But he's not here. He's dead. I killed him, but I know you don't remember. I did. I killed him. And you killed this one. And there's five more dead. And _they didn't hurt you_. It's okay… it's okay…"

Warm, sure hands stroke at his shoulders, his back, trying to ground him in the here and now. He knows all about battle-shock, and… worse. _Asala-taar _. He knows it's… difficult, in every single form. It still echoes around his mind, and it's been years since…__

__"Kadan. Just. Listen to my voice. Hold onto me. You went through too much at once, and your soul has to catch up to your body. It's alright. You're safe. You saved _me_. It's okay. Listen to my voice. Feel my arms around you. Feel your heartbeat start to slow. Breathe…"_ _

__It's a moment before Dorian does start to relax, pulled back to the world by Bull's voice, and his hands, and… just… _him_. Him. Here. Alive. Both of them._ _

__He holds on tighter, suddenly shaking from head to toe. "I… sorry… my mind was… it was somewhere else."_ _

__He knows Bull has realised precisely what's going on, and that helps because he doesn't have to say it. He just has to hold on, and try to breathe, and try to fight the weird urge to go for the _new_ damn templar again, as if that could somehow rid his mind of the memories._ _

__"I know. I know. It's… common. And it will probably happen again at times. But it will get easier, and easier. And the more you realise you can get through it, and they can't hurt you…" Bull kisses his hair, snuffling very quietly. "It was why I rode us away. _I_ was doing the same thing, too."_ _

__Which he's not wholly happy about, because when you're not thinking clearly, you make mistakes. He's pretty sure that second templar got past him because he was panicked, or not entirely himself. Which is marginally better than thinking 'because I just wasn't good enough'._ _

__An answering shudder works down his spine._ _

__"But you're here. I'm here." He takes Dorian's hand, and puts it against his (pretty much healed) side. "You fixed me. We… _together_ , kadan. Together. Stronger." _ _

__Because it is not weakness just to love him, and put him above everything else. Or – if it is – it's the kind of weakness he's all too willing to dive right into. Everything is _alive_ , and he **wants** very desperately to survive to enjoy it. Which is not what he'd been feeling, not too many months ago. Which…_ _

__"…ask me again if I want to pick a fight I can't win?" Bull says it so very, very softly. "Because I think you just saw your answer, kadan. I think you just saw what you mean to me. What you _did_ to me. And why I will _never_ leave your side, your arms, your bed, or your heart." And, because he can: "…or your ass."_ _

__That makes Dorian throw both arms around him and hold on _tight_ ; a little too overwhelmed not to. It is a lot to realise you have become someone's reason to live. It is also a lot to realise just how much Bull means to him: not because he doesn't know, or he's only just worked it out, but because the reminder still hits hard._ _

__"See that you don't," he manages, voice heavy with emotion (and still buried in the other man's chest). "I can't do this without you."_ _

__"You never have to." Bull pushes a hand up into his hair, and breathes the scent of him – fear, battle-musk, blood, him, old lust – and makes a deeply appreciative rumble. "You don't. And… I say it a lot… but _damn_ are you impressive. I would have **crapped** myself if you showed up on Seheron. It's lucky you were not at your best when we found you, because you _would_ have very likely kicked my ass. And I **love** that about you."_ _

__There's no trace of fatalism in his tone, no longing for destruction. It's open and honest admiration of skill, technique, intelligence and sheer willpower. If he hadn't been out of his mind terrified for him, Bull would have absolutely been ready to touch himself watching Dorian fight. And the pride that swells up in him is just that: pride, with no envy, and no inferiority complex. His future husband is amazing and he squeezes him because it's just. So. Damn. Great._ _

__"I hit your horse pretty hard. Don't know if it will come back. Reckon you'll need to ride with me for a while… don't trust the templar horses not to try chew your clothes or throw you off. Plus… might need you to save my ass again."_ _

__"I won't argue," Dorian says, still holding on tight. "I was enjoying riding with you before."_ _

__And he'll enjoy it even more now, because his brain is finally processing how hurt Bull was, and it's not a good thought. Even knowing he has magic to help, it's a difficult realisation, because the man seems so _unstoppable_ , and he doesn't like thinking that there are circumstances where he isn't._ _

__Perhaps that's why Bull worries about _him_ so much._ _

__"And I'm glad you liked watching me fight," he adds, now trying to lighten the mood. "Too many people think mages can't do it without magic, and I do so enjoy proving them wrong."_ _

__"Never thought that. I mean, some mages can't… and I wouldn't really have given you my axe, because _Krem_ would struggle with that. It's just good to see it… except for the part where you're only doing it when it's those templar shits." Bull scoops Dorian up effortlessly (mostly effortlessly, he's not on the edge of the Veil, but he's not at his best, either), not caring what anyone thinks as he intends to keep hold of Dorian for the rest of today at a minimum. _ _

__"If you need to not be around when we interrogate him… it's okay. I'm planning on giving him to the Ben-Hassrath when we're done, so they can get _more_ from him. The Qun will not be happy with what's going on, and we can make use of that, and buy ourselves more time. Plus, if I dose him with _just enough qamek_ … he'll be out and suffering until they get their hands on him…"_ _

__"I want to be there," Dorian says, after a deep breath. "I need to know if Alexius told them to kill me, or if they're trying to do that of their own accord. I…"_ _

__…don't want to contemplate the idea of him trying to have me _killed_ , because it's just too much…_ _

__"…need to know either way." A beat. "I promise not to try anything, though. I was… not thinking clearly before."_ _

__"You were thinking with your survival mode," Bull clarifies. "Which is necessary at times. But now you are safe, and protected, and now you can act with the smarter part…" There's no judgement in his tone whatsoever._ _

__He does, after all, understand._ _

__"It would be useful to have you there, but I wouldn't want to cause you any pain you weren't ready for. And if you need to take a step back, or need to be held back… we're _all_ on your side. Those guys are _entirely_ behind you." He holds him tighter again. "Are you ready to catch up with them?" _ _

__Dorian takes another deep breath. "Yes," he says. "Yes, I'm ready."_ _

__He has to be. And this will be better once it's over, no matter what they find out, because at least then he'll _know_ , and won't have to keep dealing with all these hypotheticals. Although… if it's _bad_ bad, then he'll have to deal with that, instead. Some days you just can't win._ _

__Bull kisses his temple, then carries him across to the others._ _

__"He's not going to be out too much longer," Stitches says, then they get close enough. "Didn't hit him too hard."_ _

__"Not for want of trying," Krem mutters. "How you want to play this, Chief?"_ _

__"Ass-up, head down over his horse's back, and the horse thoroughly lashed to the tree, to start off. Then I'll drag him free if – when – we need to up the ante," Bull replies. "Don't want too many voices at once. Stitches, you're on medical watch. Skinner, you just… do your knife thing where he can hear, first, and see if we need. Krem… you're the reasonable one."_ _

__"And me?" Dorian asks, because this really isn't his field of expertise, and also because he doesn't want to fuck it up. Getting information from someone by sweet-talking them over a copious amount of alcohol, he can do. But this… this is a little more _visceral_._ _

__Not that he's in any way opposed to it. Certainly not. Merely that it isn't his speciality. And the truth is… some part of him _needs_ to see this, not just for the information, but for the _closure_._ _

__"How much do you want to be involved, kadan? Because I can play it by ear with you, or…" Bull's head tilts. "There's several ways you can help. It depends on how much you want, and how much you're prepared to do."_ _

__"As much as you need," Dorian answers. "As for what I'm prepared to do… I did try to _stab_ him a few minutes ago. So you don't have to worry about me not having a strong enough stomach."_ _

__A beat. "Let me down. I want him to see me looking as strong as possible."_ _

__The fact he's got a fair amount of blood on him is also going to help._ _

__Bull gently lets him down, not because he's worried, but because he's careful. "Stitches… fetch his staff and my axe, if you would."_ _

__"Aye, Chief."_ _

__While they're waiting, Bull squares up to his mage. "Unless you're experienced, the best thing to do is be yourself. You are angry, and still afraid. You will get more with your honesty than if you tried to pretend at anything else. Use how you feel. I will read him, all the way through. Don't try to over-think it, or worry about what we will think, or do. Just… go with it."_ _

__Dorian nods, for once accepting that he is _not_ the smartest person in the room (at least, where this is concerned) and taking the words to heart._ _

__"All right. And if you want me to do anything," and by this, he clearly means primarily anything _magical_ , "don't be afraid to ask."_ _

__Maybe the man should be woken to the sight of the resurrected corpses of his former compatriots, all glowing and _smirking_ , and… OK, Dorian, no._ _

__"He may have recovered enough to stop you," Bull reminds him. "And you'd give him the psychological upper hand if so. But if he isn't sure if you're holding back or not… it will play into his own fears, more. What isn't known can be more dangerous than what is."_ _

__A pity, Dorian thinks, but he knows Bull is right. "I suppose so. Either way, I'll follow your lead. And, is there…" OK, this part is a little tricky, "…anything you need me to say, or _not_ say, given that you're planning to hand him over to the Ben-Hassrath?"_ _

__Meaning: what is the story you're selling about us, and do I need to act in a certain way to reinforce it? Which he knows Bull will understand._ _

__"I can work with most things. They'll play it off as what I convinced you of. Of me doing my job well." The smile Bull offers then is a sad one, because it's precisely because his job is – was – is – both – whatever… the job they gave him was to convince everyone to give him the information he needs. However he does it. Which of course means that no one can ever truly…_ _

__Bull shakes his head, trying to brush off the ever-collapsing mirror-upon-mirrors. It makes his head hurt, and now is not the time to feel that particular angst._ _

__"The important thing is I'll know what he's heard. And that means I can control the paths and the overlapping spheres, and… don't go into detail about the invitations and we should be fine."_ _

__Plus, Bull is fucking tired of listening to the Qun's pipes. He has other ones he wants to blow, now._ _

__Dorian nods again, strangely glad that they don't have to adopt some kind of persona to make this work. Because _that's_ something they do for fun, and he doesn't want it being tainted by reality unless absolutely necessary, for so many reasons… only some of them connected to the fact that he wants to be able to keep doing those things without connotations becoming attached._ _

__"Shall we, then?" he says._ _

__Bull nods, then takes the small vial of very, very strongly smelling salts from Stitches, holds it under the templar's nose… and slaps him firmly across the cheek._ _

__"If you're going to attack the Iron Bull and his Chargers, you could at least have the courtesy to be half good at it," he growls._ _

__The templar grunts awake, clearly processing his predicament and trying to gather himself, but there's concern in his eyes that won't go away._ _

__"Thought we were," he manages. "Should have realised that a man who already has templar blood on his hands would be nothing short of an _animal_."_ _

__"Did the name not give it away? I thought it was rather explicit: _The Iron Bull_. What it lacks for in subtlety it gains in _clarity_." Bull's fingers itch, suddenly, when he realises Dorian has his knife._ _

__Oh. Dorian has his knife. That's… that's something for later._ _

__For now, though, he grabs a fistful of hair, and cranes the soldier's head upwards to better glare down at him. "So you found Harland, I see. Unless there were more of you. Kind of didn't bother to pay attention before. You Andrastian extremists all sort of blur into one."_ _

__The templar glares back, obviously trying to school his expression, not wanting to look weak. Well. Weak _er_._ _

__"We did. _Nasty_ kill. But he's at the Maker's side now, and we _will_ have vengeance in his name. Even if you murder me too, more of us will come."_ _

__His eyes flick to the side, now his head is held up, and he's clearly looking at Dorian._ _

__"This kind of thing grease your staff, Pavus? Or are you just stringing this one along until you find a better option?"_ _

__"That's _Lord Pavus_ to you, you southern dog," Dorian throws back, a fresh wave of cold fury in his chest. "And if we're talking about me, let's talk some more. Did Magister Alexius tell you to kill me?"_ _

__The templar gives a rough laugh. "Oh, eager for an answer to that one, aren't we? I'm not telling you a thing."_ _

__Which means Bull has absolutely no shame in punching the man, right under his throat, between the collarbones. Not enough to stop him talking, but enough to hurt like fucking hell. "I'm sorry, did you think it was optional?"_ _

__He drops his grip on his hair, only to hit the horse's rump. Just so it bucks and rears, with the templar slung over it. "…you will be telling us, the only difference is how loud you'll scream."_ _

__" _Fuck you_ ," the man growls, when he has enough breath to do it. His face is creased in pain… and is it Dorian's imagination, or do his eyes suddenly look a little _red?_ And not because they're bloodshot, oh no. This is the irises themselves, and it's… weird._ _

__"Just tell us," Dorian says. "If you don't, he'll torture you until you do, and I can't stop him. Well, I can. I just don't want to. But I'm a _civilised_ man, so I'd still prefer the cleaner option."_ _

__"I'd also rather be doing more pleasant things, but if you don't give me what I want, then I'll take my pleasures where I can." Bull isn't a sadist. Or – well – not in a purely academic sense. Pain in and of itself is not for him. It's all about the outcome, the result… and there are much better results he could put his talents towards._ _

__"Chief, there's always _Gaat_ ," Krem says._ _

__Gaat being just a name of someone they both know, which Bull knows will sound ominously indecipherable to a templar. "Oh, oh **yes**."_ _

__"Chief…" That's Stitches, sounding decidedly concerned._ _

__"No… he's the one who rode up on us, seven to five, and thought that was enough." Bull turns, taking Krem's knife from his belt, and slices through the ropes to drop the templar to the floor. "Even an _animal_ should know who it is who wants him dead. Should--" and here he scruffs him, pulling him to eye-level, "…look him in the eye."_ _

__The templar grunts again, obviously not pleased about being pulled around like this, but strong enough not to say so out loud. Not in words, at least._ _

__"I won't rise to your baiting," he spits. "I have nothing to prove to you."_ _

__"Give me five minutes with him, Chief," Skinner cuts in, giving both of her blades a very deliberate flick. "He doesn't need _all_ his fingers, right? And if he's still being stupid when he can no longer count to ten, then go with Gaat."_ _

__Bull lifts higher. Up and up, until the templar's feet are far above the ground, and he's held aloft, chokingly, by the power of one single arm. "In a minute." He doesn't turn. "Kadan. You know how cold it is here in the south… would you be kind enough to start a little camp-fire for me?"_ _

__Dorian smiles. He has many smiles, but this one is rare. And it's one of the few you should back away from._ _

__"Absolutely, amatus," he replies. "I'd be _delighted_."_ _

__He lifts a hand and gives an easy flick of the wrist, filling his palm with dancing flames that flit harmlessly over his skin. And, from the look in the templar's eyes, he's trying to stop Dorian from doing any such thing, but can't._ _

__Maybe it's the pain. Or the exhaustion. Or maybe he's not the strongest of the group. Either way, it doesn't work, and Dorian can't help feeling _really_ good about that._ _

__"Oh, you'd _love_ to stop me doing this, wouldn't you?" he says, smoothly. "I wonder why you can't. But I know what it's like… to feel _powerless_. To be unable to do the one thing that makes you really _special_. I didn't care for it."_ _

__Another flick of the wrist, and the handful of flame shoots through the air, now bursting into much brighter life on the ground, right beneath the templar. The man gives a gasp of shock, instinctively trying to struggle more._ _

__"Andraste herself died in Tevinter fire," he chokes out. "It will be an honour to do the same…"_ _

__"Andraste died because Archon Hessarian ran her through with a sword on the pyre," Dorian replies, flatly. "Which is not a mercy any one of us will show you."_ _

__"You do yourself too little credit," Bull can't help but say, turning his head to Dorian, making sure the templar knows what little of a threat he is. "You're special in oh so many ways."_ _

__And he doesn't look, either, as he starts to lower the man. The templar has been stripped of his armour and boots, so he's only dressed in the light shirt and trousers he wears beneath them, and his feet are bare, so Bull holds him near enough that the proximity will hurt. A lot. Directly above the flame is always the worst, no matter where the fire came from._ _

__"Chief, I really think--"_ _

__"Stitches. Go pick some elfroot." Bull drops his arm enough to touch the flames to wiggling legs, then hoists him higher again. "Maybe we can keep this one going with your poultices and Dorian's magic. There's not a limit on that healing stuff, is there?"_ _

__The templar screams, now thrashing in an attempt to break free, even though he blatantly can't._ _

__"Only the limits of my mana," Dorian answers. "Which _is_ fairly extensive, as you well know. Plus, if I don't do too much, too fast, I'll recover it faster than I can use it."_ _

__" _Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him… Foul and c-corrupt are they who have taken His gift and t-turned it against his children… They shall–"__ _

__"…the Chant of Light?" Dorian says, cutting the templar off in mid-sentence. "Really? Are you _that_ cliché? Besides, it sounds better in the original Tevene…"_ _

__"He was talking about _healing_ you, _basra_. He's not the one you should direct your anger towards. And if this Maker of yours really gave half a shit…" Bull lowers the templar again, for longer this time. _ _

__"Chief, there really is only so much we can heal." Stitches sounds convincing, if nothing else._ _

__"I only need him alive. He doesn't need to be able to _walk_." Plus, some part of him he doesn't fully want to engage with is enjoying this, whilst the other parts are either quietly locked away, or screaming. It's a complicated situation. Bull lifts the templar up. _ _

__"You attacked **us**. Harland got what was coming to him. We've killed six of you. The more that keep coming, the less templars will be around to piss my very, very skilled Tevinter friend off. So. I'd like numbers. And I'd like names. And I'd like to know whose head I cut off to stop all the scurrying little insects like you from trying to visit my picnics."_ _

__"…all right!" the templar screams. "All right! Make it stop and I'll… I'll tell you…"_ _

__"Promise?" Dorian asks, levelly. A lot more levelly than he feels, which is… complicated._ _

__"Yes! Yes!"_ _

__"Cross your heart and hope to die?"_ _

__"Yes! For fuck's sake, yes!"_ _

__Dorian lifts his hand with an almost lazy air, twirling his palm and somehow just _drawing_ the fire back out of the grass and into his grasp again, watching it flit over his skin before extinguishing it with a snap._ _

__Silence, save for a few crackles of cooling grass, and a wisp of smoke in the air._ _

__"This would be the part where you start talking," Dorian points out. "Before I show you what other elements I can make."_ _

__"All right, fine, just… just put me down, damn you…"_ _

__Bull puts him down. By simply letting go. He knows the templar can't make a run for it right now, so dropping him down into a tangle is even more insulting._ _

__Also, Dorian is enjoying this way too much. And Bull is enjoying him enjoying it. And…_ _

__Krem gives him a look. Bull just grins._ _

__"I hate you heretics so fucking badly," the templar spits, sprawled in a tangle in the ash-strewn grass._ _

__"Hey, hey, less of the 'heretics', please," Dorian cuts in, moving closer and dropping to one knee at the man's side, so as to stop him getting up. "I'm Andrastian, same as you. I just don't use it as an excuse to kill people as I please. Now… I believe you were saying something about who sent you after me?"_ _

__The templar glowers… and _glowers_ … and then sighs. "…Fine. Not that it will do you much good. No, your magister friend didn't send us to kill you. Last we heard, he still wants you alive if at all possible, though he is willing to _pay_ for dead, so it can't be _that_ big of a deal."_ _

__The words hurt. Dorian fights not to let it show. "So if it wasn't Alexius, then who?"_ _

__More glowering. "It was us. The Templar Order. The _new_ Templar Order. Reformed from the ashes by our general, Samson. He was in Kirkwall, so he _knows_ the danger your kind pose. When we realised you'd murdered Ser Padraig, he charged us with finding you."_ _

__"Well, that was foolish, wasn't it?" Dorian remarks. "You had one dead templar, and now you have seven. Eight, if you misbehave too much."_ _

__Violence is rarely the best way to actually get the truth out of people, unless they actually do want you to know. And as Bull knows the templar would happily spit all over Dorian given the chance, he's sure that the intel on Alexius is sound, as far as this one knows._ _

__Bull would prefer other routes, but when the enemy has actually attacked, and can't really be kept around your future husband, then you have to adapt. Plus, of all the people here, they really don't have a massively good in-roads. Skinner – elf – couldn't pass for friendly towards him if her own feet were on fire. Krem could attempt to, but the Tevinter in him would likely be evident. Stitches possibly, if the man had any real skill for it._ _

__Leaving a Qunari-Tal-Vashoth-templar-butcher or a Tevinter mage on the lam._ _

__And Dorian – of course, with his smooth tongue and smart mind – is getting further with this one than he did with Harland. Who, in retrospect, was a freaking lunatic._ _

__"I think 'murder' is a little strong, when he attempted to kill Dorian first," Bull chips in. "But I doubt either side would agree to let bygones be bygones at this point."_ _

__"If he did, then I'm sure he had his reasons," the templar retorts, coldly, with a glower at Dorian that suggests he shares said reasons, whatever they were. "And you're quite right. We never take kindly to the killing of one of our own. Especially when he was a close friend of our leader. No matter what you do to me, you have made a _dangerous_ enemy of General Samson, and he will stop at nothing to–"_ _

__"Hold on, there," Dorian interrupts, with a wave of the hand that makes the templar flinch, obviously thinking it's a precursor to spellcasting. " _General_ Samson? I thought that sounded wrong when you said it before. 'General' isn't a Templar rank, is it? I may be a wicked northern heretic, but I do _read_ , and the man you're describing would normally be called a Knight-Commander. So… what? You just threw out tradition along with common sense after Kirkwall went boom?"_ _

__"How _dare_ you?" the templar hisses, but Dorian just waves his hand again and the man clearly takes the threat as it's now intended._ _

__"You said you were a reformed order. A _new_ order. But are you _the_ order, or are you an offshoot? Renegades." _Fasta vass_. "A **cult**?"_ _

__"We are _not_ a cult. We are templars. _True_ templars."_ _

__And there's that grin again, from Bull, right to Krem. Krem who simply shrugs, getting an easy ride of it for once. Not that Bull has to do too much work either, it seems. Maybe he should put a spot of tea on, and let Dorian get everything?_ _

__"True templars. True Andrastians. True everything… you do realise that every cult, or heretical protest movement says they're the 'only' truth?" Bull chuckles, plants his axe-handle in the ground, and folds his arms over the top of it, being careful not to do himself an injury. "Maybe the Ariqun was right about the south."_ _

__And now he's wondering if any Ben-Hassrath helped inspire the whole Chantry incident, after all. He wouldn't put it past the Arishok. Or the Ariqun. The splintering of all the old guard really is terrifying, what with the Wardens as well as the Chantry and Templars and Circles and is anyone still sure what's going on these days?_ _

___That_ makes the templar try to leap up in clear rage, but somehow Dorian's reflexes kick in even faster, and he slams the man back down with some of the same mana-fuelled force he's used on Bull for far more fun reasons._ _

__"Did I say you could get up? You really need to think about this. I'm trying to get some nice, clear answers out of you before my lover and his collection of stabby friends decide to take over and do this their way. So stop acting like you have the _slightest_ chance of getting out of this alive without my help, and keep talking."_ _

__The templar glowers, and he glowers. If _that_ was a templar ability, _everyone_ here would probably be on fire. But is isn't._ _

__"…Your _lover_ and his Ari-whatever can keep their filthy Qunari hands off the south," he spits. "They try anything, and we _will_ meet them with superior force."_ _

__"Yes, yes, we're all very good at posturing," Dorian remarks, dryly. "But what about this cult of yours?"_ _

__"It is not a cult! The Templar Order as it once was is gone; lost to the chaos of the Mage Rebellions. Half of us are dead or scattered, the _Seekers_ are off doing… _whatever_ they do in their little haze of superiority, and it falls to the rest of us to build something from the ashes. A _new_ order."_ _

__"Hm," Dorian says. "A new order. That must take some doing. Allied yourselves with any Darkspawn Magisters of Old, have you?"_ _

__The templar suddenly goes very still, and very quiet._ _

__"You see, _this_ is what I was afraid of," Dorian manages, hiding his sudden terror behind a very effective veneer of superiority. "You southerners simply aren't ready for home rule…"_ _

__"Which is why it would probably be best if my people and your people took this information together," Bull continues, with absolutely no intention of doing anything other than terrify this templar with the idea of a Qunari-Tevinter alliance._ _

__Which wouldn't really work, but the _bas_ as a whole are too stupid to realise that, and too ready to crap themselves at the thought of anything like that happening. _ _

__Possibly he shouldn't have put the idea further into the templar's head, though. Except he's only going to be handled by Ben-Hassrath now, and they will already know he and Dorian are… er. Cavorting. So…_ _

__Bull waits to see if the templar reacts to the comment, because the 'Order' is definitely in cahoots with at least one magister, and the extent of the Tevinter investment – or knowledge of it – will be there in how he answers._ _

__Dorian should not be turned on by the thought of a Qunari-Tevinter alliance. He should not. He likes _this_ Qunari very much, but the rest of them are a wholly different story. And yet… and _yet_._ _

__He nods. "Agreed," he says, but doesn't add any more; for once leaving a space in the hope the templar will fill it with something else he shouldn't admit._ _

__It works. "Par Vollen and Tevinter have as much chance of making friends as I do of suddenly tolerating the likes of _you_ ," the templar says. "Besides… I think you'll find your precious _Tevinter_ has already chosen a side. Magister Alexius isn't alone in his support for us. We have others in our employ."_ _

__Dorian actually laughs out loud. "Oh, you poor dear boy, you really don't get it, do you? If there's a magister in the mix, _you're_ working for _them_ , not the other way around."_ _

__And if there's multiple Tevinter agents involved in this, then the Venatori have clearly been making friends. Which is every kind of not good._ _

__Bull shakes his head, also amused. "And if the Qunari want their hands in your affairs, they won't ask permission, or even let you know you're working _for them_ ," he adds. Because he feels like being a shit. _ _

__He reaches down to pat at the beleaguered templar's hair. "Don't worry your pretty little head, though. You'll never see it coming. So… these other magisters?"_ _

__The templar resorts to that glower he favours. "I don't know names. I just know there's a number of them. Don't know why Samson is _sullying_ himself with foreign mages, but if he thinks they're useful, I trust his judgement."_ _

__"Venatori?" Dorian says, just to see if he gets a reaction._ _

__"Something like that," the templar replies, in a tone which makes it clear it's _exactly_ like that, and he's just trying to sound disinterested._ _

__"Perfect. Well. Haven't you been _very_ helpful?"_ _

__This time, the templar doesn't deign to reply._ _

__Bull reaches into the little pouch near his hip, pulling out a vial he keeps concealed in his large hand. Pretty much everyone who is with him wouldn't need to ask, anyway._ _

__"Kadan… your blade?" His thumb flips it open, ready to trickle the substance over the edge. He thinks it's about time Dorian got to show a templar what _qamek_ feels like. _ _

__It takes Dorian a second to process what he means, because he's not used to having a knife on him… but then he remembers, and pulls it from his belt. The blade is still streaked with blood, and it dawns on him that it's been used to kill at least two templars now._ _

__He flips it – with ease, because he's not at all unfamiliar with handling one – and offers Bull the hilt._ _

__On the ground, the templar is looking suddenly concerned again._ _

__Bull takes it, and drops the tiniest amount of the poison onto the blade. Then reseals and returns the vial, and offers the knife back to Dorian with very, very delicate fingers. "Please, the honour is yours."_ _

__He dips his head, just a little, as if this is an agreed ceremony. In a way it is, because he's already told Dorian the plan, but he hadn't told him he wanted him to be the one to do it._ _

__Dorian is surprised by that, too, and it takes him just a second to get his reactions in check. He is not, when it comes to combat, usually a hands-on person. And OK, yes, he _did_ stab that other templar, but it was in frenzied self-defence, and not careful, measured thought._ _

__He's also not, actually, a vindictive person. But… he _isn't_ killing the man, and by all rights he _could_ , because the templars did attack him with the intention of doing just that._ _

__He's _also_ , also, coasting a very strange power high, and well-aware that Bull is enjoying watching him do it. And it is _hard_ not to show-off when he has such an appreciative audience._ _

__So he takes the knife back, holding the hilt carefully, and looks down at the templar._ _

__"You know," he says, almost conversational in tone, "your friend Padraig, who you're so riled up about losing? Do you know what he did? I suppose you wouldn't, given that he was _very_ dead by the time your people found him. Well. He was supposed to bring me in alive, but at the first chance he got, he decided dead was better. He pinned me to the ground at knifepoint, told me how disappointed he was that he didn't have time to rape me, and then poured an entire bottle of _that_ stuff down my throat. I nearly died. Would have, if Bull hadn't secretly been dosing me with the antidote, and I was still out of my head for _days_ afterwards. But, let me tell you, the _pain_ before I lost consciousness was _unimaginable_. Even now, if I try to think about it, I can't truly process it because of just how intense it was."_ _

__The templar has gone white, and seems suddenly unable to speak._ _

__"Now… _this?_ This won't kill you. Probably. But it _will_ make you wish you were dead. And _I_ wish I was sorry."_ _

__He leans down, slams the templar onto his back with another quick burst of mana-force, and then rakes the blade across the top of the man's arm; deep enough to hurt on its own, but no more than that. A light wound is enough to get the _qamek_ into him, and he doesn't want the man bleeding to death by accident._ _

__Dorian wipes the blade almost fastidiously on the templar's shirt and rises to his feet, and the man is screaming even before he's fully upright. He meets the templar's eyes for no more than a few seconds, and then sticks the knife in his belt again before he turns and walks a good few steps away, not looking back._ _

__Bull hadn't heard the whole story. He hadn't asked, but he didn't really need to. He'd understood enough, and he knows… he knows that whilst this was painful, it will have helped. He doesn't need to tell Krem and Stitches what to do, he just leaves them to it and walks after his mage._ _

__"Kadan," he calls, softly, not touching him in case he's not quite 'here'. "They can't hurt you again. I'm sorry I didn't get to you in time… but… they can't ever hurt you again."_ _

__He's close enough to touch, but he's trying to respect Dorian's needs and waiting to see which way he'll fall from that. It's a critical fork in the road, and he wants to make sure it's the right way._ _

__"Tell me what you think you need. Anything, kadan."_ _

__Dorian hadn't even processed that Bull _didn't_ know the whole story, because he's so used to the other man somehow knowing _everything_ that, in his mind, he did. And on one level he feels guilty for telling him like that, in front of people, but on the other he's sort of glad, because he just _did_ it and – for once – didn't overthink._ _

__"I'm all right," he insists, but he doesn't turn, and he feels strangely… _elsewhere_. Like his mind is half in the Fade and half out, despite him being awake. "Really. I'm sorry if I overstepped."_ _

__Right now, finally removed from the situation, he's not sure why he did. He just… knows he needed to._ _

__Bull makes the movement of his hand audible, so Dorian isn't taken by surprise when he runs the backs of his knuckles over his shoulder. Initiating, but not forcing. Not pushing._ _

__"You didn't. It's why I told you to be yourself. I _asked_ you for the fire. I _offered_ you the knife. Because I thought… you might need it. Until you faced the… the thing that happened… until you saw it go another way… you were always going to be trapped under him."_ _

__Not to mention he'd been out of his head by the time Bull arrived, and very obviously never managed to process the resolution. Something that couldn't be avoided, but wasn't ideal by any means._ _

__"They can handle taking him to the nearest agent. I don't think there'll be any more templars soon. They are weakened and that was a significant loss of numbers. Would you like me to take you to the next place, alone? Away from the templar?"_ _

__Dorian doesn't resist the hand on his shoulder. Not at all. But he still feels so weirdly _detached_ , and isn't sure how to react, so he just sort of freezes where he is, staring into middle-distance._ _

__"I'd like that," he says, still not turning. "I think… I need the space."_ _

__"Do you want your own horse?" Bull asks, not happy with how Dorian is acting. Not because he shouldn't, but just because he doesn't want him to be feeling this. Even if it's necessary, first. "I won't be upset if you do."_ _

__" _No_ ," Dorian says, and it's the first time since he walked over here that there's been real emotion in his voice. "Don't. I… please just get me out of this place."_ _

__Moving is strangely difficult, as if his body is frozen, but he forces himself through it and turns… and the sight of Bull just makes something _give_ in his chest, and suddenly he's throwing his arms around the other man, holding on tight._ _

__Bull tries not to choke audibly at that, and his arms wrap equally tightly, lifting him just half an inch from the ground when he hugs him back. "Let me take you away. Let me do what I should have done that first time. What I won't ever fail to do again."_ _

__He kisses his hair fiercely, and then hefts him up again. Not because Dorian needs to be carried around, and not because he's weak, but because he wants to. He wants to hold him, and he wants to feel like he's helping, and he wants to try to make him feel safe._ _

__And because remembering nearly losing him is so fucking…_ _

__Bull doesn't do more than nod at the others when he gets hold of his horse. They know where to find him, and he knows they'll follow. He swings them both up, and someone had the sense to strap both their weapons to his mount in preparation._ _

__They're good kids. He knows he got lucky with them._ _

__"Let's get you somewhere with lots of pillows and books and warm soup," Bull murmurs, as he urges the horse to move at a canter. "I need you to see it's over. I need you to know you won."_ _

__"I just need you," Dorian replies, and curls in against him, and lets Bull ride them away._ _


	17. Chapter 17

They travel for a few hours, not saying much, but Dorian feels better for the contact, and the quiet. And when they stop, it's perhaps earlier than they would have done under normal circumstances, given it isn't dark yet, but this isn't a day for racing ahead.

Unsurprisingly, Bull is the one to arrange the accommodations at the inn they've arrived at, and Dorian just lets him go about it, quietly nervous as to what he'll say when the other man finally gets him alone. Wishing he hadn't let himself get so emotional, so _affected_ , and still feeling unsure as to whether it was the right thing to do.

An old, well-learned urge is making him want to forego the talking and go straight to the drinking… but he knows that won't help here, not really, and so he fights it and lets Bull direct him down to the room they've got for the night, instead.

Bull makes good on his promise, or as much of it as he can. The room is the nicest available in the not-too-great village. There's pillows, but no books, though he does manage to get a very large bowl of soup, several hunks of bread that look like they rolled around in the field to load up on extra bits of grain, a hunk of hard cheese and some grapes. Unfermented. 

The food gets put on the small table off to the side, and Bull urges Dorian to sit on the bed, only so he can kneel to remove his boots (and his own) so they can move about freely. He strokes Dorian's calves, constantly trying to keep the connection up with his hands. Trying to keep him 'here' and 'now'. 

And wondering why it's so hard, for once, to speak. 

"Kadan…"

"…you know I don't blame you, don't you?" Dorian blurts out, when the gentle contact gets too much and the words have no choice but to escape. "I keep telling you, but you still seem to think it was your fault. You _saved my life_. And I'm confident you prevented a great many other unpleasantries just by being there the whole time. So… so don't for one second think that you failed me, because you didn't. You didn't, I promise…"

"I should have stopped things. Sooner. Not… thought I could keep the fiction going to find out more. I risked _you_. Risking myself is another matter." Bull drops his head against Dorian's knee, holding one hand in his, stroking it with the other. 

"I was… I was… foolhardy. Convinced of my own abilities. Maybe trying to show them off, and maybe a little worried that if I actually let you go… you'd go." His hand tightens, and he turns so his eye is hidden in fabric. "I thought… Seheron would be the worst experience of my life. I thought nothing could possibly be worse than that. And then… running with you in my arms, _suffering_ … that was worse than not knowing if you'd make it. I felt every shudder, every scream… I… it was _saar-qamek_ the Tal-Vashoth used. On the children. The Tamassran. But now it was _you_. And it was because of _me_. And I would have ripped my own eye out to make you stop screaming… I didn't know how to help you… I was… _powerless_."

"You _did_ help me," Dorian says, very softly; his hand shaking as he slips it under Bull's jaw and gently tries to make him look up. "You killed him. You got me away. You got me to a healer, and then you took care of me for days. You did _everything_ right, amatus. I know it doesn't feel like that, but… trust me. You did."

"And as for… as for what happened on Seheron… I know nothing can undo that, but… it wasn't your fault either. It was awful, yes, but you didn't do it. And… you avenged them, like you avenged me. And now you're risking yourself again to do good for the world. For people who don't deserve your blood, or your pain. But… you give it."

"You deserve it." Bull doesn't want to meet Dorian's eyes, but he does. "You do. Even if no one else does. And you were doing it before you even met me." He smiles, but it's a little pained. "You're a better man than you have any idea you are, you know."

He puts his hand on Dorian's. "You were hurting. And I couldn't stop it. And I didn't know – I – some people… when they've…"

Bull can't keep looking. "Some… want it to stop. Just. Stop. And… I don't know what I'd have done, if you asked me… I don't know… that first night? When… when I did it… it was what the Ben-Hassrath… it's how they bring you back in line. And I did it to _you_. I tried to make it not hurt, I did, but… _I know how it made me feel_."

He remembers, though his mind tries to avoid it, and he **hates** that he did the same to Dorian. Even if it was the only way to get him 'safely' under control. "I should have realised then, killed him, and let you go. But I _didn't_. And… how can you _possibly_ forgive that? You were suffering for _days_ and it nearly killed **me** when – when they did – and I hate _them_ , so why don't you hate me?"

"Because you kept me alive," Dorian says, keeping a hand on the other man's face but not trying to make him look back. "Because you had _every_ reason to hate me, and you still treated me better than you had to. And I _know_ you saved me from worse. I know it. And if you'd asked me if I'd rather be semi-poisoned by a man who was ultimately trying to protect me, or give myself over to _whatever_ the damn templar had planned… it isn't even a choice."

He shivers. Being almost poisoned to death was terrifying, but nothing horrifies him more than the memory of the look in Padraig's eyes right before he did it.

"I gave you as little as I could… the first time." The only time. After that, Bull hadn't been able to give him any. "I – I haven't stopped giving you the antidote, you know. Never stopped. I thought – it might be any time, and…" Bull pushes his lips to kiss Dorian's palm. 

"I have never really been afraid. Not until then." Not until he thought he might lose Dorian. He pushes up, suddenly, barrelling into him in a bear-hug that sends him toppling backwards under rather a lot of large Qunari. 

"I'd drink a whole bottle of that stuff before I let a single drop touch you again. You were hurt because _I wanted to be hurt_ , and whatever the universe is made of, it did that to punish me, and now I _won't_ let you… I won't… they'll need to go through me before anyone does… I just need you _safe_. I need you to feel safe. I need to know you're okay…"

Dorian doesn't resist the push in the slightest, dropping back on the bed and wrapping his arms around Bull just as tightly, head buried in the curve of his shoulder.

"I'm safe, amatus," he says, softly. "I'm with you. And you saved me again, today. I don't know what I would have done without that knife of yours, so it's a good thing I had it. Also… you're still dosing me?"

He's warmly amused by that, but touched too. And he realises it's probably sensible.

"I hadn't even noticed. Good thing you're on my side."

"Yeah. Ben-Hassrath assholes are everywhere. And it doesn't hurt you to be dosed, or me." Because yes, he does. Bull kisses his ear, fighting a shake that just… damnit. He's supposed to be comforting Dorian, not freaking out himself. 

He gulps, then pushes up just enough to look down at the man he's pinned to the bed. "That blade belongs in your hand, by your side. To protect you when I'm… when I'm not close enough. Kadan… it was my _asala_ , my soul-weapon. But I think that's _you_ , now. Would… would you please keep it with you? So I know you have a piece of me to protect you at all times?"

That takes Dorian by surprise. He knows enough about Qunari warrior-culture to know what it means, and how significant the request is. And even more so that calling **him** Bull's _asala_ isn't just a sweet, romantic gesture.

"I'd be honoured," he says. "I'll keep it by my side, always."

He's aware, though, that Bull keeps giving him gifts, and that's lovely – of course it is – but Dorian suddenly wants to reciprocate. He's just not sure how, yet.

"Now I know you'll be alright." It's maybe a little strange, but it's… his kind of strange. It means Dorian has Bull's protection in a very visceral, personal way. Which doesn't need him to be glued to his hip. It… eases some of the worry. Some. 

"Does it – does it bother you, that I don't share your faith?" It never really touched Bull's thoughts until earlier. "You said to the templar… and I never really asked you if you believed or not."

"It doesn't bother me at all," Dorian answers. "I mean… I do believe, yes, but I'm hardly devout. I've always believed in the presence of _something_ all-powerful beyond the world, and I suppose Andrastianism is as good a way to understand it as any. Plus Andraste _did_ exist, so there's an empirical root to it. Mostly I find it comforting to think that there's a purpose behind all of this, even if we can never truly know what it is."

"I don't hold with much of what the southern Chantry does in her name, though," he adds. "I obviously have a very _Tevinter_ interpretation of the whole _'magic was meant to serve man'_ debate. If I'd been born in the south, I'd likely be dead by now. Or I'd've been standing next to the guy in Kirkwall, helping him light the fuse. Oppression of the many for the sins of the few is… wrong."

Bull flips them so they're lying nose-to-nose, and puts his hand on Dorian's hip. "I was supposed to make you feel better, you know. Why do you keep turning my entire world upside down?" 

It's terribly, terribly fond, though. 

"Do you – do you need to talk about anything? Actually… I know you need to. Do you _want_ to?"

"It's what I do," Dorian answers, easily, especially because it gives him a moment before he has to engage with the rest. But… he does, doesn't he?

A soft sigh, and he's curling in a little closer. "And… I don't know. I mean, I know I do, but… I don't quite know what to say. I was… back there, with the templar, I was… I felt… _different_. And I don't know if that's a good thing or not."

"We can – I can make sure it doesn't happen again. You don't have to do that, or be that. Even if you were _very_ good at it." Very good. Bull definitely was impressed. "I thought… you needed to… restore your balance. But you don't need to ever do that again if you prefer. It… can be hard on your soul."

Bull should know. 

"After what you went through… it's important to understand that it will have an impact on you. Everything that happens to us, does. And I should probably have talked to you more about it before we started, but I wanted it to be… natural. Do you regret it?"

Dorian gives a gentle shake of the head. "No. If I'd thought about it too much… I would have _over_ -thought it. And that was a rare occasion where I'd favour instinct over forward-planning. It… I…"

A pause. A breath. Why is it so hard to talk about this, when everything else just flows like fine wine at Satinalia?

"…should I have… enjoyed it so much?" He sounds guilty for asking, which means a lot coming from a self-confessed hedonist. "Because… I did."

A finger and thumb lightly hold Dorian's jaw. "Would you have enjoyed doing that to someone you didn't know? Who hadn't tried to kill you? Would you even have considered doing it?"

"No," Dorian answers at once. "I wouldn't have considered it. I'm not like that. But it… felt _right_. Like I needed it. And I liked… you… watching."

He did. Not in a sexual way, but… definitely pleasurable regardless. Which also feels like it should be more wrong than it was.

"Then I don't see anything wrong. _They_ attacked **you**. And you defended yourself… some of that defence means understanding their attacks. You… you crawled into his head. You pulled at the strings… I _liked_ watching. You were magnificent, kadan. _Magnificent_." Bull's tone is entirely, entirely sincere and whole-hearted, and he slides his hand down Dorian's neck, shoulder… down to his wrist. 

"I told you then: you are more than your magic. You are all the things you've learned, through study and intuition. All the ways you can read people… all that _fire_ in your belly. Fire to survive, and to protect what you believe in." And oh, hasn't it been a flame drawing him in from the dark since they met. Bull lets his thumb fall over the peaks and into the valleys between Dorian's fingerbones. 

"There is satisfaction in doing anything right… especially if it is _difficult_ and even more so if it is _important_. Watching you fight with your staff, then my knife… even when you don't have what you think you need… Dorian, you are incredible. That's why they sent seven templars, and why they need to send seven hundred, and it still won't be enough."

Dorian actually blushes at that, looking down for a moment. He _likes_ being appreciated. Likes being appreciated by Bull most of all. But the resonance behind his words… it hits harder than Dorian might have expected. It isn't just appreciation. It's more, and it means more too.

"I'm glad you approve," he says, though his tone betrays just how affected he is. "I'm just pleased to be doing it for something worthwhile, now. Some _one_."

"You were doing it before you even had someone to do it for. You should remember that. If you ever doubt yourself… you saw the world was wrong, and not just for _you_. You stepped up, and you didn't need to." Bull lifts Dorian's hand, to kiss the back, slow and sure. "There's no one who never does things wrong. But there are those who never do things right, or do more wrong than right. And I know who you are. That is why I follow you, kadan. To battle, to Tevinter, to wherever you need me to go."

A nudge of brow to brow. "It is my honour to be with you. And to see all the ways you'll grow stronger, still. Let me carry what burdens I can. Let me be your _beres-taar_ , and you my _adaar_. And I will be your axe, and you will be my barrier. I told you once that I leave the Qun for you, and only you. If you value me truly, then you must realise you are worth it."

Dorian has spent so damn long having to fight for approval from _everyone_ , and always knowing even then there were strings attached. So realising that he really doesn't have to do that with Bull… it's weird, but not bad-weird. Good-weird. Weird like… like acceptance that his achievements are worth something. Which… they are, he knows they are, but it's hard to enjoy that when the world keeps telling you otherwise.

Not strong enough, not smart enough, not good enough, not heterosexual enough. And now… he's just… _enough_ , and it's like having another weight knocked off his chest, so the air can flood back in.

"It is my honour to be with you, as well," he says, his voice shaking a little from the emotion. "To… be worth giving up everything you know. I swear I won't let you down."

"I know you won't. I know, because I know what having nothing feels like. It was no competition. You would always have won, whether you wanted me by your side or not." Because Bull wouldn't have turned him in, and he knows he wouldn't. He'd have found some way, some reason, some excuse… but he'd have let him go. 

And he's glad. Glad that he's sure about that, if nothing else. There'd been no part of him that really wanted Dorian to suffer, and every reason for him _to_ want it. 

It just was right, in all the ways everything else had been wrong. 

"Loving you is more than an old, battle-scarred idiot like me ever deserved, kadan. And if I get you, I keep you, and I never, ever will let you go."

His movements are slow, deliberate, telegraphed. He lets Dorian know he's going for his wrists, and pushing them up. Lets him know he's going to roll him, and straddle his hips. Watches his face, reads every flicker he can see there. 

"Kadan." It's a statement, a question, and an answer all in one. 

_Oh_ , but that feels just too good, and Dorian stares up at him with dark, hopeful eyes; heart racing with sudden need that is far more than merely physical.

"Amatus," he breathes. "I'm yours. _All_ yours. I'll do anything you ask. Anything, to make you happy."

And he means it. If the other man wants to ravage him senseless, or take him slowly, or spend hours kissing, or just lie here and talk, all of those things are good, and he hopes that's there in his eyes, too.

"Don't move your hands." Bull gently closes one, then the other around the headboard. "Not unless I ask you to. I don't follow any deities, so I won't say _worship_. And a real one would have no flaws, I think. I hope."

Bull kneels up, and lets his fingers trail over the fabrics. Bump-bump-bump of a finger over the ridges, the stitches. A crinkle over the impacted velvets, a swish over silken smooth patches. "Instead, I want to celebrate. Celebrate a world that let us meet. That gave us to each other, when we needed it most."

He bends, bracing his hands on Dorian's shoulders, running a slow fall of kisses over his whole face. From the tip of his nose to his shuttered eyes to his lips to his jaw and back again. "I will never lie to you. I promise. I may not tell you everything… but anything you _ask_ , I will answer with all my heart." 

Dorian gives a soft murmur of happiness at that, letting the other man take the lead and relaxing under the gentle attention. He really does like gentle too. Away from all the fire and fury, the imagined stories and the desperate fucking… it's good to be reminded of how much he's wanted for _him_ , as much as anything else. Not that he doubts it anymore. Just that he likes to remember.

"I promise the same," he says. "I… will probably have said most of it by the time you think to ask, but if I haven't, that's all you need to do. Not that I have much in the way of _secrets_."

Bull lets out a very low, adoring whuff at that. Somewhere just above an ear, as the heels of his palms and ends of his fingers knead at the muscles of Dorian's shoulders. 

"Oh, _kadan_. You do… you do. Perhaps not in the way you think of them… but the first time you ate a fruit and it burst over your lips and you stained your shirt with the juice… The songs you sing in your head, when you know you should leave the tavern and go to bed… The colours you'd paint our many houses in… Everything inside of you that I don't yet know is a precious treasure I long to hear…"

His tongue finds the chain around Dorian's neck, and he sucks it into his lips, working down and around, shimmying lower over his thighs, hands moving to rest over his pecs. When the chain can go no further, he lets it fall from his mouth. "Some of those things I'd love to break out of you, as you held them tight for the challenge of it. Some of those things I want to ask you, as we ride, dine… live. But the best ones are the ones you entrust me with. The ones that serve no purpose but for me to know you more, that you offer to let me know who you were before we met."

"I was a man waiting for his amatus," Dorian answers, softly; seemingly hypnotised by Bull's slow movements. "Consciously, one I never expected to find, but unconsciously… one I longed for. _You_. Though… I was not unhappy. Not all the time. Certainly not once I found what I thought was my place in the world."

A little sigh, more out of contemplation than any heftier emotion. He loves talking about himself, but he's still not used to having genuine free-rein about it. Especially with the knowledge that Bull will be pleased to hear whatever he says.

"I lived in Minrathous for years, you know," he starts out. "So much bigger than Qarinus – where I was born – but I always liked it. A lot of people find it a bit overwhelming… too big, too bustling, too old… but it was just so _alive_ to me. I was an enchanter in the Circle there; too young and too impatient to have started tutoring, but I _loved_ the research. And the debates. And… there was this route I used to take, when I was walking home, close to the city walls, where you could watch the sea with the city at your back, and it was just… _breathtaking_. I wonder if it will ever be possible to show it to you. I… would like that very much."

"People _enhance_ you. You like to hear them, see them… be heard, be seen…" Bull echoes it back, between pushes of hands against the taut muscle below. He starts to roll his weight on his knees, just for the light friction where they touch. He's nowhere near his crotch, he just wants to move with him. "I would love to. To hold your hand, while you show me all the places you loved, you laughed… to show me what home you're fighting for, what you see beneath the smudges and rust. The jewels under the paste…"

Bull uses his nose to nudge Dorian's head up, to gain access to his throat to lap and suckle. "I love to hear how you think, even more than _what_. Maybe one day you'll see ships come in to that port… bringing friends, and the future. Bringing hope." 

Dextrous lips and tongue start working over the clasp at Dorian's throat, his teeth clinking on buttons and dryly prising the outermost layers down. Wherever he bares, he kisses. "I have seen Minrathous. But I prefer your words. Your view. Your memories." 

That makes Dorian stare at him in surprise. "You've been?" A little smile, and a laugh of realisation. "Of course you have. You don't let _anyone_ tell you where you can or can't go…"

He shivers under the gentle touches, loving them so very much, closing his eyes for a moment as the kisses get just too good to resist and then staring up at Bull once more.

"Even so. I could show you Minrathous like you've never seen it before. Streets almost as old as the rock beneath them. Tiny libraries, leftover from the old collection of some long-forgotten magister, where the books seem to crackle with _secrets_ whispered across the ages. The _best_ confectioner you will _ever_ visit, with the most delicate sweets and pastries you've seen in your life; so beautiful it's almost a sin to eat them. Grand spires that sweep the sky, standing as monuments to what the Imperium once was, and still surpassed in majesty by the little gardens along the city wall, where the sea crashes in the distance, and…"

His eyes are hazy with memory, now, and so much emotion.

"… _Maker_ , I miss it."

"I will take you home," Bull promises. "I will take you there, and help you wash it clean. Where you go, I follow." It hurts his chest hearing the things Dorian loves. It isn't because Bull doesn't have the same things to miss (in a way, he's glad he doesn't), it's that Dorian's longing is palpable and… almost unbearable. But it's what's at the core of him: this need to see the best possible outcome. To acknowledge the flaws and still try to work past them. 

Bull lets his fingers work, next. Unwrapping the shiny, crinkly layers to reveal the warm, breathing body below. The heart of the matter: the real Dorian. Just as bright and effervescent, even when the colours are hair and skin.

"I can smell the salt, kadan. Can I taste it on your lips? Until I can taste it in the air with you, and kiss you in the shelter of those walls. In the embrace of your past, and the hope of your future." 

"How are you so damnably wonderful?" Dorian asks, and his voice really is cracking now; emotion getting the better of him. "Kiss me. _Please_." He knows he sounds needy, but that's because he _is_ , and he's trying to keep himself together.

He's been told not to move his hands, so he doesn't, but he does arch a little under the touches; the fingertips on his skin, longing for more. It isn't even about sex… OK, it isn't _all_ about sex. It's the need for connection, for contact, for an anchor in this world that reminds him what he's worth, and what – maybe – they can achieve if they try.

"You bring it out in me." Bull's a little too fast to answer, but then he has both hands on Dorian's face, tugging him up to lick a rough stripe across his lips. He licks again, prising them from teeth, before plunging slowly inside. Slowly, like he's taking his time with other parts of his body: mimicking the gestures he wants to make soon between his thighs. He leans his weight forwards, until Dorian is pushed back down with his weight, and Bull is flat-out atop him. It leaves his belly over his groin, and he starts a sine-wave under his ass, up through his spine to roll them together. 

For someone as hefty, bulky and broad as he is, Bull is surprisingly graceful, when he wants to be. Delicate and precise, not always sheer pressure of pound per inch. 

When the kiss ends, Bull's wound fingers through hair, rubbing deep circles into his lover's scalp. The slow grinding, rocking hasn't stopped, and he's very, very aware of the beat of Dorian's heart just a breath away from his own chest. His eye tracks left to right, as if memorising every flicker of thought, every curve, every tiny mark that makes his skin his, not some imperfectly pure sculpture. 

"Kadan. I have an offer. You can choose… but whatever you choose, it is what happens tonight. It is only for tonight. Do you wish to hear it?" 

The words pull Dorian's mind back out of the very lovely pleasure-haze he's sinking into, and he stares up at Bull with those dark eyes again, trying to read his face, to work out where he's going with this, even though he knows the man will tell him. Because… instinct makes him look for the 'right' answer, despite the fact there isn't always just one. Sometimes, any good answer is 'right'.

"Yes," he says, and it's clear from his tone he's intrigued, and needs to know. "Tell me. _Anything_."

"You can choose one of two paths. Path one: you tell me the things you want, and need, and I give you them. You cannot move, you can only take." Bull waits for him to process that.

"Path two: you have no say whatsoever. I will decide everything. You will simply have to accept what is done to you, for you. Whatever it is. There will be no mercy, or bargaining, and if you beg you may get nothing you ask for at all." 

His head tilts, questioning. "Which would you like today, kadan?" 

_That_ makes Dorian's heart race, and the trouble here is that his most honest answer is 'both, yes please'. But he knows part of the point is making him choose, so that's what he's going to have to do.

It isn't easy. Part of him craves the latter option, because he likes being made to surrender; likes being at the mercy – or lack thereof – of the Iron Bull's iron will. And when he surrenders that way, with or without a fight, it pushes him out of his head like nothing else, and right now he'd enjoy that very much. His head is too loud, too full, too _conflicted_ , and being made to let go would be a welcome relief.

Except… there's been so much gentleness and emotion so far, and that's _really_ lovely too, because it's nice to be worth the time and the effort; nice to be reminded that this is so much more than just physical. And… when it comes to emotions, his are rather more chaotic and vulnerable than usual, so there's a distant but genuine concern that accepting all-out surrender might push him over an edge he normally doesn't reach.

But… Bull wouldn't do that. Would he? Dorian isn't sure. He knows the other man wants what's best for them both. That he'd never do anything to cause real harm, be it emotional or physical. That when he says 'surrender', and Dorian agrees, he's safe, even when it looks or feels like he isn't. So… it would be OK. Maybe? Probably.

None of this helps, though, because it just proves the earlier point that his honest answer _is_ 'both, yes please'. And now he's been silent for too long and the other man is probably wondering if this is the longest he's ever gone without talking and possibly he should just pick one because otherwise he looks hesitant and he's not hesitant, just indecisive, and..

…OK, his mind is clearly still not all there.

"…is it wrong I want to say both?" he blurts out, before he can stop himself. "But… the first option, if I have to pick one."

Well. At least he's honest. Hopeless, but honest.

"Wanting to say both isn't wrong." Bull kisses his nose, just a quick peck. "But it is impossible for them to exist simultaneously. Which is why you pick for _tonight_. And another night… another question. Another answer. Another option." 

His eye sparkles with terrible tenderness. "I wanted to offer you two things you would both want. That's the _point_ of it being a choice, kadan." 

Slowly, oh so slowly, he pushes himself up onto his knees again, and rests his hands on Dorian's chest. "First you must be comfortable, because you won't be moving, unless you get cramp or you genuinely need to. If you itch, I will scratch. If you ache, I will move you. If you ask for something, you will get it. But you will give nothing back, and you will simply have to _take_ everything you've asked for."

Dorian bites his lip slightly, and nods. Lying back and _taking_ is strangely easy when it's about surrendering, and letting the other man _use_ him. But this sounds so much more intimate, and less about mere control, and… that feels as though being passive would be a lot harder. He realises that's the point, of course; that surrender isn't just about force, and restraint isn't just about physical bindings.

Perhaps that's what drew him to the idea most of all, when so much of him cried out for the other option.

"All right," he says, softly. "I understand. Are… there consequences, if I move? I'm not planning to, I just… I just thought I should know."

He hopes the sincerity is audible in his voice, because he really isn't looking to misbehave. Even if he'd taken the firmer option, he'd still be doing his utmost to comply. But he can't _not_ push at boundaries, just to see what will happen.

"Yes. But it will depend upon the intent. And upon your reaction, when you have been told." Bull runs a finger over Dorian's collarbone. "It is not about punishment, not tonight. That isn't a free pass… it's an understanding. I will stop, until you are ready again." 

Another head-tilt. "Are you comfortable? Do you need to know more, or should we begin?" He isn't rushing him, he's simply guiding him. 

Dorian nods. "All right. Thank you. And… yes. I'm comfortable. And ready."

It's obvious just how much he wants to get this right. He wants to get _everything_ right, because that's the sort of person he is, but his eyes betray how much more this means. And if he can't reciprocate physically, then he can do his utmost to obey whatever rules Bull sets down.

Bull places his hands over Dorian's, curling them around the bar, closing the circle. 

"Tell me where to touch you. Tell me where to kiss you. Where to stroke you, bite you, hold you." His hands squeeze. "Tell me how to love you, even if just for tonight. I will do all you ask. Whatever you ask."

And oh, but doesn't the mixed control and surrender make Bull's head spin. It is, after all, just another way of doing what he normally does: aiming to give Dorian what he _needs_. It is just that this time, Dorian has to try to know, and voice it. 

Similar thoughts are going through Dorian's head. He knows on one level he's in control, if he's directing the other man's actions. But… he's also lying beneath him, held in place by nothing more than his word, and the counterpoint between the two really is something.

He knows how to be in control. Not when it comes to the things Bull can do… but of the situation, the _encounter_ , definitely. It's an odd thought, though, when it comes to being with Bull. Not bad. Just… strange.

"Kiss me," he says, a little more level and sure than when he asked earlier, but still very full of need. "Kiss me like you did the first time, when you knew I wanted it too."

Those words go through Bull like a harpoon to the gut, or the heart, or the dick… or all three at once. He would comply, even if he hadn't agreed to already. A hand under Dorian's jaw, holding him still. The other stays where it was, as he turns his head and presses their lips together, full of angry wonder, rage, and hope. Hunger and fear that it might be taken from him, that… that he could lose this precious treasure…

His tongue licks feverishly deeper, forcing Dorian to accept him, tasting and claiming in equal measure. He kisses until he can't stand the tightness in his chest, then breathes until he can't stand the tightness of not kissing him. A growl, a sharp nip of teeth, and he presses in again.

Bull doesn't give him any room to breathe between each kiss he takes, not until he's so wound from the contact that he thinks if he does it again, he'll ignore his own rules. So, chest working hard, he pushes his brow to Dorian's, and runs his fingers over his swollen lips. "You were always going to be mine," he whispers. "You called to my blood, like a dragon in the skies."

_Fuck_ , but that's so good. All Dorian can do is lie back and _take_ it – much like he did the first time – but he can feel so much more behind it now. Feel the need, and the longing, and the _craving_ … but also the care, and the honesty, and the _vulnerability_. It is dangerous, to need someone so badly. Not wrong, oh no, but dangerous, because you open your soul to them, and that is so very much more than just opening your body.

He's breathless when the last kiss breaks, and he stares up with blatant longing in his eyes.

"I'm glad you answered," he replies, softly. "A dragon I may have been… but the skies were so very empty."

And then… a pause. He knows he's allowed to direct physically, but he wonders if he can ask questions too. Then again… he'd probably ask anyway, and Bull _did_ say he'd tell Dorian anything. Plus, it's not bad.

"When did you know?" he asks. "I realise the longing was already there, but… consciously. When did you know you wanted me?"

"Physically? Or…" It's complicated, and it's there, over his face. The fact that the question is difficult to answer, because it's tangled up inside in so many ways. Bull isn't being awkward, he's trying to unpick it. 

"I admired you – academically – from the moment I saw you. Especially seeing you try to fight, even with a templar. But I enjoy many people on that level…" He feels no shame in admitting that, because Dorian understands aesthetic attraction, too. 

"I knew… I knew you mattered when I didn't want to give you the _qamek_. I didn't know how, or why. I knew I needed to understand you… and when you offered to sleep with me to get away…" This makes his head turn, a little sadness around his face. "I knew that I didn't want _that_. That if we were to… that I wanted it to be **right**. That I didn't just want you in a bed. That it was something… _more_." 

Which he has to gruffly laugh at. Normally you don't realise you want someone by telling them 'no'. But for him, yes. Because it _mattered_. Because he wanted _more_ , and anything less would have been an insult and an offence. 

That makes Dorian smile. "I was surprised when you turned me down. Most men with a taste for other men tended to be rather more receptive if I threw myself at them, especially if they were in a position of power. But you… I think that's when I knew you were not what you seemed. That, and the night you got me drunk…"

He'd still been so afraid, and well-aware the other man had been interrogating him at the same time. But… something had made him want to answer, and it wasn't just the alcohol, or the loneliness. He'd known Bull was different. He just hadn't figured out how yet.

His eyes flick down, then, drawing attention to the fact he's still only half-undressed.

"You should finish stripping me. I love the feeling of your hands on my skin. How you can be as rough or as gentle as you please, and everything in-between."

"What about that night?" Bull asks, because – well – he didn't say he wouldn't. And he can do as he's asked and still talk. 

Also because now he needs to know.

Bull lets his hands trail as he sits up. "…rough, gentle, or somewhere in-between?"

"Gentle," Dorian answers, so quickly that he knows it's what he really wants, without needing to second-guess. "I think… I need a little of that tonight."

That doesn't mean he won't want other things later. But he's still raw from the afternoon, and he wants it soothing away. Physically and emotionally.

"And… that night?" he goes on. "I'd been so scared of you, you know. I'm well-aware what most Qunari think of mages from Tevinter, and what most would like to do to us. Even when you were being so reasonable, especially compared to… you know, _him_ … I couldn't help not trusting any of it. And that night… when you pretended to drug me so he'd go to sleep, and then got me drunk… OK, yes, you wanted to know what was going on. I knew that. But you were… nicer to me… than you needed to be."

"You didn't deserve to suffer. Not because of who you were." Bull says that with a firmness that comes from conviction, as he takes hold of one of Dorian's hands, lifting it from the bed to slip it loose from sleeves and cuffs, one layer at a time. When he's done, he lowers the hand and moves to the next. 

"No one deserves to suffer for being born. Only for what they do. I… never believed your people were all alike. Even before I met mages from other places, or other Vints… hadn't met one who was both, though. Not… not like you."

Bull kisses his wrist, and gently tugs the removed clothing from under him, folding it with delicate hands and care. He knows Dorian's clothing is precious to him, even if he also enjoys destroying it… well. A man can be complicated. 

Skin bare, he lets his hands sweep over shoulders and upper arms, then dance, tinkling, down his torso to rest on the buckle of his belt. He slips the tongue from the notch, then lets it dip into each hole as he tugs it loose, lightly lifting the man's hips as he does. "Is that when you – when you knew? When _I_ said 'no'?" And – ah – _vashedan_. "That first night. When. When you were hurting. All I wanted to do was hold you until it passed." He hadn't engaged with it properly, not then. "I – I wanted to wrap you up and keep you safe, and make sure it didn't happen again. I wanted to – to… hold you. It…"

Bull puts warm hands on his hips. "Do you hate that? That I realised I cared for you, because I hurt you, first? Because I saw you suffering… because I _made_ you suffer?"

Dorian smiles. "No. Not at all. Is that weird? I don't think it is. You were doing what you thought you needed to do… until you realised you wanted something else. And… it's… sort of touching to think that something made you change your mind about me so quickly. To realise that you were on my side long before I thought I'd won you over even a little."

"But… no. No. I knew when you took me off to duel. When you kept telling me to trust you, long before you had your hands on me… it's like you were screaming out to be understood, and I couldn't work out why until you let me use magic, and you _weren't_ afraid of it… and I realised maybe I was screaming the same thing. And… then I wondered what other things we had in common."

He bites his lip. "And _then_ you slammed me into a tree. And I just… knew."

Bull snorts, and lifts his hips up to plant a kiss on his belly. "…that was a little on the nose. If you didn't know by then, I'd have questioned your sanity, and your intelligence."

He hasn't been asked to kiss, though, so he runs his fingers over either side of Dorian's fly, pushes his thumbs into the soft flesh of his thighs, and then unbuckles his trousers. He eases the tight fabric open, and helps him lift his hips enough. Silken underthings below, which he uses his teeth on, slipping them lower and down to clear his feet. Everything with precision, then tidied away. Leaving Dorian naked, and Bull standing at the foot of the bed. It isn't quite big enough for him to really be comfortable in (few beds really are), but it's a decent size. 

And Dorian is presented on top of it, open, bared, ready. Bull makes no secret of his admiring gaze, all the way to his eyes. "Let's face it, though. You just wanted to see if what they say about Qunari cocks was really true. You _love_ a good fucking."

The tone in no way matches the flippancy of the words. It's there, as bare as Dorian is. It isn't 'fucking'. If he'd wanted that, he could have had that. He'd needed… this. 

"I do, yes," Dorian answers. He does, and he sees nothing wrong in admitting it. "But this was always more. I knew that. Sex can be _very_ good without ever being emotional, but this… this was always about the emotion. That's what I meant when I said I knew when you slammed me into that tree. I wasn't being flippant. I knew enough about you by that point to be sure that you wouldn't have done it unless you _meant it_. If you'd been trying to trick me, or hurt me, you didn't need the pretence. And if you'd just wanted sex… you'd have taken me up on it days earlier. You wanted to be wanted, the same as I did. That's why your voice cracked when you called me _kadan_ the first time."

His voice wavers a little as he says it now.

"…come back down here and kiss me again? _Please_."

**Shit**. Yes. He. They'd only – but he – and… 

Bull is on top of him in a heartbeat, and this time it's even more furious. He'd wanted to be wanted, he'd wanted to be _welcomed_. Not just physically, but emotionally. Something he had no right to want, and no right to ask. And every damned bit of him cried out in longing, all the same. 

He grabs Dorian's hands, lying over the top of him, grinding harder against his belly as he bites his mouth in punishment for being – for being _him_. For breaking him apart with just his very existence, and for being everything he never knew he wanted, but always needed. 

His blood rushes through his head, making it sort of magic-sparkle-tingly, making his horns itch. Making his hips rut up against him, even if he's doing nothing but grind like a frustrated, and ill-educated adolescent. Bull can't help it, he's corralling the urges that threaten to over-power his self-control, and it isn't easy in the slightest. 

"Only wanted _you_. Then. Knew I only wanted you. Knew you were mine. Knew you had cut my heart open and moved inside. It _hurt_." 

And he needs to do something so very, very badly. Not-doing is torturous, but he _promised_. "You did… something. Some magic. _You_ did this. C-can't you see?" 

"I was just myself," Dorian says, and it's a line that could have been delivered with warm smugness, but instead he sounds almost shy. "And… it was what you needed. Just like you were what I needed. Strong and fiery and dangerous… but also smart and passionate and generous. That's why it worked so well, so fast. And if that's magic… well, it's a magic beyond even me."

He can see the fire in the other man's eyes now; the need and the longing in his every breath, and it's not something he can ignore. "Tell me what you need, amatus," he breathes; not moving, not breaking the rules, but clearly desperate for some way to reach out. "Please."

" **You**." It hurts. It hurts, how much he's feeling. It threatens to spill out in every single breath. It makes his guts churn over nothing, makes his blood shimmer in his veins and burn in his arteries. Bull wants to rip the sheets with his nails. Wants…

"Kadan… tell me how to show you. Tell me. I need to hear you say it. _I need to show you how I feel_." 

"Then take me," Dorian breathes, his heart racing again. "Fuck me. Hold me down and fuck me slow, and hard, and _possessive_ , and keep going slow until you can't take it any longer. And when you _can't_ take it any longer… when you really, _really_ can't… then fuck me as rough and as fast as you need. Leave marks on my skin, from your hands, your lips, your teeth… whatever you need to remind us _both_ that I'm **yours** , and always will be."

Bull kisses him again, because to not do so would be a travesty against creation itself. Because he has all these feelings brimming up in his chest, and he needs to get them out. Needs to get them _into_ Dorian, somehow. Needs him to feel the same passionate insanity that makes him… lose everything else.

"You **are** mine. You belong **_with_** me. You are mine in the way I am **yours**. No slave, no master… My _kadan_. Your _amatus_. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you."

He's angry. No. No… anger isn't right. It's just that anger is normally the only thing he felt this loudly before, this violently, this… intensely. And it has the same, coursing copper-salt-tide feeling inside, of energy and a need to answer it. 

Bull pushes one of Dorian's legs up, and curls it around himself. The pants he's in are shoved abruptly down, and only the little bottle of much nicer liquid stays in the bed. 

"Look at me. Look at me as I open you for me. Look at me and see what you do to me, kadan. See how you split me in two, and moved in to hold the pieces together. I _need_ you. I _cherish_ you. I--" and he pushes two wet, wet fingers in, all the way in, "-- _love_ you."

"Oh _fuck_ , amatus, I love you too," Dorian gasps, gripping the headboard with both hands to make sure they stay still, and staring unblinkingly up at Bull like a man possessed. "You're everything I wanted, and everything I didn't _know_ I wanted, and right now I need you to fuck me until I can't _speak_ and then hold me until you're ready for round two…"

He's suddenly shaking with it, with the _craving_ and the _longing_ and the need to be _everything_ the other man needs in return, and it's like the way he feels when he hasn't been able to do magic for a long time and suddenly realises he can let go again, and it's as though the whole world is _bursting_ into colour and light.

"Please," he begs. " _Please_. Kiss me. Fuck me. Hurt me. Hold me. Anything. _Everything_."

"Hold my horns," Bull insists, demands, whatever. It doesn't matter. Both of them want, and ask, and get. So it doesn't damn well matter who says what or how, just that he's fingering him as hard as he dares do without hurting him in ways he won't enjoy. Stretching his digits wide, and scoring his nails down Dorian's shoulder, leaving claw-marks where he's been. His fingers pinch in around muscle, knowing just where to press and how hard to do it. 

Knowing that as the shock of pain hits, he can remove his fingers, and grab Dorian's hip to keep him in place for the inevitable slam up, up, and in. He's still tight, and when Dorian's body arches under him, he presses so deeply inside he could almost imagine he could press against the bits of him that _feel_.

"Touch me. _Hurt_ me. Mark me. Do anything you need to make me _yours_." Maybe he is a savage brute, as he sinks his teeth into the broad swathe of muscle by Dorian's neck. As he scrabbles and grips and pulls him until he meets his thrusts just right. Maybe it's going to leave them both bloodied and bruised, but that's _fine_ because they **want it to**. He wants the marks of passion and claiming, possessiveness and protectiveness. He wants the badges of honour and the reminders that echo on his skin for days. Bull wants to hurt him, yes. But not to injure him, just… just because the love _is_ too much for simply soft sighs and coy looks. It's that. But it's this, too. And everything else as well. 

Dorian _howls_ at that, any attempt at staying still quickly abandoned as he grips Bull's horns and tries to angle himself as perfectly as possible, to get the other man as _deep_ as possible. Needing it. Needing him. _Needing_.

And on other days, his mind might have gone comfortably under at this point, sinking beneath the onslaught, revelling in it. There would be nothing wrong in that. But… this is _not_ other days. Dorian is still cresting the weirdest high from the whole incident earlier, and it holds his mind up, sharpening his thoughts… and pushing one to the fore.

He shouldn't. Should he? No. Yes?

He could… suggest it. And if Bull disagrees, the man can always resume ravaging him with reckless abandon, and they'll both be perfectly happy with that. But if he _agrees_ … maybe it's what he needs. Bull is very good at working out what Dorian needs, but Dorian isn't blind to Bull's needs in return.

All right. Yes. Life without risk is dull. Life without risk is staying home, reading books (OK, that part's good), eating healthily and producing heirs. Life _with_ risk is much more interesting. And, usually, more fun.

Dorian conjures up a quick burst of that mana-strength he's becoming so fond of, and flips Bull squarely and effortlessly onto his back. He's still impaled on him, and he quickly shifts position so it stays comfortable, and _good_ , and he could quite happily ride them both to completion like this if he wanted.

But… for now, he leans in, and stares down at Bull with the same focused intent he turned on the templar earlier today, except much, much more fondly. "Do you mean that?" he asks, soft and level and sure. " _Mark you_. Is that what you want?"

Knowing that at any minute in their bedsports, Dorian can – and will, if so inclined – flip the tables on him is a thrill all of its own. Total meek submission has never interested Bull. It means nothing if it isn't earned, and it means so, so much coming from a man who could rip him in two, set the bits on fire, then bring them back from the dead. 

(He also shouldn't find that idea as arousing as he does, but… you learn to go with what you like.) 

Bull hasn't had his hands grabbed, so he grips Dorian's hips, urging but not forcing. And his one eye goes _black_ in the wake of both tone and suggestion. " **Kadan**. I told you: I am _yours_. I decorated you in your ways…" his eye flicks to Dorian's left hand, then back up. "We – the Qunari – have none. But I have a story behind every mark on my skin. Having one to be proud of – beyond surviving it…"

His gaze goes a little distant, a guttural rumble of interest. "I… _like_ pain. And from you…" His breath whistles past his teeth, followed by an even more salacious purr of anticipation. "You can claim me, it won't change… who we are. Not unless you want it to. We _are_ … **right**." 

"We _are_ ," Dorian agrees, his tone suddenly fierce. "And I like the way we are. I like surrendering to you. I like letting you _win_. But… I also like making you happy, and knowing you're mine just as much as I am yours. So if this is something you need… something you _want_ … I have an idea."

He does. It's formed in his mind in a matter of seconds, and the more he thinks about it… the more he thinks it's precisely what Bull wants. Part of him wonders if it's right… but if it's wanted, and it's them, and it does no lasting harm beyond leave an equally-wanted mark… then how can it not be?

Dorian sits back, gasping a little at how it feels, and then arching (mostly to show off his body for the other man's benefit) to take off the metal amulet that hangs loosely around his neck. It's the crest of his family, of House Pavus; handed down to him by his father when he came of age, and before things between them _really_ fell apart. It's enchanted – of course – and enhances his protection against demons, but what matters is that it's all he has left of home. And it's… him. His family, his heritage, his once-birthright. A mess that Bull has willingly gotten himself involved in, one way or another, by proposing marriage to the disgraced only son of an old magisterial line.

The little key that Dorian _also_ keeps close hangs beside it, and right now Dorian holds just the key so that the chain and amulet swing beneath it, where Bull can see. His other hand is held up empty, but fills with dancing flame at the simple flick of his wrist; flame that glitters in Dorian's eyes, as sure as the emotion behind it.

He hopes his offer is clear. "Tell me you still want it," he says, softly. Needing to be certain before he does anything more.

"More than anything." There's no hesitation in Bull's voice, except… outright awe. Both at the power, and the offer. Qunari understand ritual, and the importance put into symbols. Into believing in the power of objects, if they represent something larger. And he knows – even without needing to know – how much it means to Dorian. It's as obvious as the sky is ever-changing, or as water is wet. 

He splays his fingers low over Dorian's belly, wrists resting on his thighs. It's not really submission, or maybe it is. But – to Bull – it doesn't feel like giving in. If it was what Dorian wanted, needed… he would. But it's… complicated. 

Things are not just good/bad. Not just us/them. The reality is so much more beautiful, complex, and exquisite. 

"You… today… I _liked_ it, kadan. I like this version of you, too. Even if you only want to show it rarely… it is part of you. And I relish every part of you. Don't hold back. _Please_. Give me every side of you. That you trust me with it all… is everything to me."

"All right," Dorian answers, still so very sure, and he brings the handful of flame in closer, holding the gently-swaying amulet right in the middle of it… and though the flame clearly doesn't affect him at all, it's a very different story with the shaped metal, which is soon glowing from the heat. He watches it wavering slowly back and forth, seemingly hypnotised by the sight of it… until he lifts the amulet free of the flame and closes his hand with a snap, extinguishing it.

Then he leans in a little closer, putting that flame-free palm against Bull's chest and _pushing_ with his mana again, to hold him still. And that's certainly not because he thinks the other man is suddenly going to resist, but because he knows this will hurt, so he's being careful.

And… because maybe, he likes the feeling of control. Not that he'd want to do it often. But… if he's doing it now, why not go all the way?

"I love you," he says, the red-hot amulet still swinging in his other hand. "And you have every part of me, every side, every facet. My surrender, to the only man who could ever be worthy of it… and my strength, which drew you in rather than scaring you away."

He leans in closer still, holding the amulet above the top of Bull's chest, just below his right shoulder. "Remember to breathe," he adds, before laying the red-hot metal on the other man's skin, and _pushing_ down – this time without physical contact – so the mark it leaves will be clear.

Bull doesn't resist, even when the metal touches his skin. He isn't afraid. Pain is simply sensation, and a sensation that's kept him safe. Kept him from doing things that were too foolish. Kept him from going too far, or cracking under too heavy a burden. 

Sensation that is suddenly so intense, so visceral that his head drops back until his horns scrape at the bedding, and his fingers knead deeply into Dorian's waist. It… burns, stings, sears. Makes his heart thud harder, makes his blood run faster, makes him aware of nothing but the immediate change to his skin…

Until he opens his eye, and fixes it – full of nearly drugged-up drunken adoration – on the man currently holding him down and marking him as _owned_. Not a slave owned by a master, a magister… but owned and owning in turn. It feels… good. It feels… protective. Like a spell wound around him, staking him out as beloved. His cheeks flush with colour as his lips part to moan out a prayer he bastardises, just for him. 

" _Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam **kadan**. Nehraa Pavus. Nehraa kadan._."

_Fuck_ , but Dorian feels those words all the way through, and the stab of renewed arousal is impossible to deny; the strange power-trip making him feel high as a kite, and yet somehow grounded at the same time.

He lifts the amulet back after a long moment, releasing all of the pressure holding Bull in place, and then lets ice blossom forth from both palms, so he can safely cool the metal in one, whilst laying the other over the very red mark on Bull's skin. Wanting – _needing_ – to soothe as well as hurt.

"I am yours and you are mine," he says, still so level and sure, as though his mind is walking in a different realm. "And anyone who questions that will face our combined strength. _Anyone_."

Bull's chest pitches and heaves, quietly, as he coasts through the sensations. The heat bleeding out, seeping into Dorian's cold hand. Fire and ice, meeting in the middle. How can he hold such extremes and not burn? How can he contain such power? Bull has no idea, but he loves it all the same. He places his larger hand over Dorian's – fingers nudging the faintly glowing band – and nods. Nods. Grunts in deep, bone-deep satisfaction. 

It hurts, but it isn't punishment. It's simply… simply a way to match the height of his emotional reaction. It pushes through boundaries, and lets him see more clearly. 

"No one would live to tell the tale, kadan. Together… nothing can stop us." Bull tilts his head back, just a fraction.

"Your House is my House. Your cause is my cause. Your future, my future. Your pain, your joy, your hope, your fear. _Asit tal-eb_ , kadan. Now, please: _kiss me_?"

Dorian sits back, letting the ice fade at last, and able to slip the safely-cooled amulet around his own neck once more. And then he leans in, with a roll of his still-coupled hips, so he's only a breath away from Bull.

" _Anything_ , amatus," he murmurs, watching his face for all the signs that this was _right_ , and then pressing in to kiss him, slow and firm and meticulous. Wanting him to know – even though he already does – just how much he means to Dorian. How all of this is better than he could ever have hoped for.

Even though his heart is beating faster, there's an almost-eerie calm, too. Bull slides one hand into Dorian's hair, just above the nape of his neck, and strokes his thumb behind his ear, feeling his jaw work as they kiss. 

His other hand moves between them, nudging at his belly, asking permission to touch his cock. He wants that slow, firm pace to continue. At least until one of them snaps and it has to – _has to_ – speed up. 

Between kisses, he smiles against the corner of the mage's lips. "I was yours before I met you, kadan. I simply didn't know it. But now I do. Now I do, and all the pain in Thedas is worth just one kiss from you. So tell me: _what do you need_?"

"I need you," Dorian answers, simply but honestly. "I need you happy, and content, and at peace from all that fire raging inside you. So… if you need to flip me straight onto my back and take me hard, then do it. _Please_. Or, if you want me to ride you slowly first, then just say the word. I told you… _anything_. Anything, to bring you joy, or bliss, or release… or all three."

He rolls his hips again, for the sensations, for the promise, and… to see if it will motivate Bull either way. He wants this to be right, and they've literally flipped through so many possibilities already tonight that he's not sure which one is the most _wanted_ right now. And he suddenly needs to know.

" _Both_." Bull smirks as he says it, echoing Dorian from before. "Slow. Slow, until neither of us can take it. I want to see you fall apart, piece by piece. I want to hear every breath as you push me to _my_ edge. I want this to last all night, and forever…" 

His hand curls around the firm shaft, thumb gliding over the tip, squeezing then faintly stroking, enjoying the answering movements and noises it elicits. 

"Ride me, as slow as your legs will take it. Let me watch you move. Let me watch your body, your face, your smile… show me your patience, show me how deep I go inside of you… and when it feels like the world will end if we don't? That's when I'll take you. That's when I'll give us both what we _crave_."

Dorian smiles too, because of course that's what Bull would say. " _Anything_ ," he breathes again, so much weight in that one word.

And then he starts to move, as slowly as he thinks he can bear; lifting himself up only to sink back down with a soul-deep gasp of pleasure… once, and again, and again. It feels incredible, and all the more so for the way the other man is watching him, because being the focus of that kind of intense attention is… wonderful. And humbling. And _damnably_ erotic, because he knows Bull will appreciate every last little flicker of reaction, every movement, every arch of his body and every gasp that slips his lips.

He knows how to make it good. But… he doesn't have to overthink it with Bull. He can just _be_ , and feel sure of the other man's approval, and enjoyment.

"You are so _beautiful_. All the way inside, kadan. Your body, your mind, your soul… seeing you happy makes… _everything_ right… ah! Fuck! I _adore_ you…" Bull lets the words pour out, with all the fire in his belly behind them. He is overwhelmed by the weight of the moment, by the weight of everything. 

And damn, but the man looks _good_ split open on his cock. He can't see it vanishing inside of him, but he feels every slide, every glide… every shudder and twitch. His own hands chase the movement of his muscles, ghosting after the tense, arch, or fall. But it's Dorian's face he's trapped by, his face he can't look away from. 

Bull twists his grip, but oh-so-slowly. He wants to drag this out until the thread snaps. Wants to dance on the knife-edge of sensation, and never, ever fall. Not until he loses his mind. 

Which… which he'd always been so afraid of. Been so afraid that he'd lose his control. That he'd… do something, be something that he didn't like. And he – he didn't. Even the first time. Especially the first time. Half out of his head, and the overwhelming, protective feeling that couldn't be driven out. He's sure he's… safe. Sure he'd do anything to make this right. Sure that nothing could shake him from his course, and his aim: Dorian. 

"I am… safe," Bull murmurs, wonderingly. "And you…" I would die for you. I would kill for you. I _have_ killed for you. "Please… show me the magic again. You _captivate_ me. I need to see it. Please…" 

That actually makes Dorian blush, and he looks touched and delighted all at once. If you'd told him a few months ago that he was going to end up with a Qunari lover who _enjoys_ seeing him do magic, he would have said you were insane. Funny how these things work out.

"You know I _love_ it when you watch," he purrs, and slows the movement of his hips so he can focus, wanting to make this _good_. He hasn't shown off all his tricks yet, after all, and now feels like the perfect moment to lift the lid on a few more.

He holds out his hands, like he did that very first time; easy and open and sure, like a man with all the wonders of the world at his back. The room goes dark; the lamps and candles flickering to nothing in no more than a breath, and then the air floods with light. But it's not flame this time, oh no: it's a vibrant, ethereal purple, swirling through the darkness like whisps of glowing smoke; the life-energy of anyone close by made manifest, and tracked through with lines of brighter light left by benevolent spirits brushing at the edge of the Veil.

It's stunning. He knows it's stunning. It's _very_ difficult to do, and under normal circumstances he might stop there… but this time he doesn't: letting golden light spill out of the darkness to join the purple; snaking over and around him from behind, along his arms and across his chest until he's haloed by it.

"Like that?" he says, with a smile.

" _Oh, Ashkaari_." The title Bull breathes is heartfelt. It was his name, once. The title Koslun took, but which suits this creature astride him all the more. Thinker. Seeker. Enlightened One.

Dorian's power makes the whole world bend, and he follows the dancing lights and knows they aren't going to hurt him. Hurt either of them. Dorian is about as far from what he'd thought mages would be, in the Qun, as he could possibly be. 

He reaches up, trying to touch the serpentine whorls, trying to dip his finger in the light. "This… is you, isn't it? _You_. Kadan… show me how I look to you? Please? You are so incredible…"

He envies, and doesn't. Not the ability to set fires, or to push, or shove. He can do that with tools, with knowledge. But this… this he wishes he had. This ability to look beyond what his eye can see. 

Thankfully, Dorian seems all too willing to share. 

Bull dips into the gold, following it over his lover's skin. "This is precious. It should never be taken from you. It just… illuminates who you are, from the inside."

Dorian smiles. Of _course_ Bull understands straight away. Most people – including plenty in Tevinter – really don't, but he just looks and he _sees_. It's one of the many, many things he loves about the other man… he never has to hide anything, because Bull already knows, and adores him for it.

"It is, in a way," he answers. "It's the way the Veil moves around me, reacts to me. It's different for everyone."

Then he leans forward, gently laying his hands on Bull's chest – making sure not to touch the new mark near his shoulder – and closes his eyes for a moment, letting his mana surge inwards, and out, and…

Fresh light floods the air, centred around Bull: a burst of pink and silver, flaring brightly either side of him in two distinct, mirrored shapes that seem to sway like… _oh_. Like **wings** ; great, draconic wings in mid-flight. More of that light halos him too, making sharp, angular lines over his skin, and around both horns, enhancing the dragon-like appearance all the more.

" _Ataashi_ ," Dorian breathes, fondly; the Qunlat seeming more appropriate right now. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised…"

Bull actually startles at that, looking over his shoulder where Dorian's attention goes, and beaming widely. It's so pretty. So vibrant and alive, and when he moves his arm, the light follows. Then he reaches across again, dragging his light with him to pull it across Dorian's warm skin. 

So that's how the Veil looks? Or – sometimes? No wonder Dorian loves to play with it. Though 'play' is really rather unfair to what he can do. It's like an art all of its own, and one that is so closely linked to both this world, and the one he can't see. 

"This… is a gift." Bull's voice is low, reverent. And he pulls Dorian down to kiss him, the two bright wing-like shapes stretching out to wrap around him as he does. He's so damned impossibly wonderful, and Bull feels his heart skipping like he's fresh from the biggest battle he's ever been in, but with none of the lingering worry, fear, or need to push things aside. It's just… joy. 

He draws deep lines into Dorian's flank, pushing into the flesh, just to watch the world shift. It's hypnotic. And it's… addictive. And he can see why some would risk asking a spirit – a demon – for more. 

"You really are a 'dangerous thing'. Just not how everyone thinks you are." It's no insult on his lips, though. It's a term of utmost respect. "Kadan… what will it look like when you come?" 

That makes Dorian smile again. "Let's find out, shall we?" he says. He can maintain this for a little while after all, given that it has no force behind it… and it's worth the effort for the awed look on Bull's face alone.

So he arches back, and starts to ride the other man again, faster and harder than before. Chasing release, now, though wanting to enjoy every second of this in the meantime; of the feel of Bull inside him, slamming into places that make sparks run through his body… and soon literal ones too, along those serpentine lines of golden light like stars flaring into being.

He feels… completely free. Completely _liberated_. Power and pleasure course through him with abandon, and he can't remember ever feeling so damnably _alive_.

" _Yes_ ," he gasps, "oh _yes_ … amatus, I love you…"

The visible reaction is something else, in and of itself. The way the coils contract, constrict, and _effervesce_. It's another layer over what Bull already knew, but it's strangely comforting to realise he was right. 

Bull truly is enchanted by it, by **him**. He grabs at Dorian's hips, helping him by dragging him in on each down-stroke, enjoying the way there's that little tremble and judder. He's memorised his lover's tells, the signs he's enjoying things more than just a little. 

Normally so pristine and primped, Dorian gets _wild_ when he's close. He looks feral, savage, and utterly debauched. Bull lets him ride, simply enjoying himself, letting Dorian use his body at his own pace, angle and speed… until he can see from the teeth in his lip, the stretch of his throat, the dip in the small of his back. He's close. He's close, and the lights just confirm it. 

Bull lets him ride, until the very last moment. Then he wraps arms up and behind his back, grabbing his shoulders and spearing him as hard onto his lap as he can. A roar of challenge, and then he's toppled Dorian onto his back, still buried inside. His hands around his waist, tilting his hips up and giving him the purchase he needs. Rough, but glacially slow thrusts, aimed to drag out the moment for as long as he can bear it. 

"Hold on."

That makes Dorian howl in bliss, not fighting the movement but _desperately_ needing the release he's so close to, and no longer able to chase on his own terms. Not that he doesn't _love_ that too, of course, but it does make him rather more vocal.

" _Please_ ," he gasps. "Amatus… please… I need… I'm so close…"

The look in his eyes is pleading too; staring up at the other man and clearly going out of his mind with pleasure. He reaches up, gripping hold of Bull's horns, and instinctively trying to lift himself a little, to get the angle _just_ right.

"Let me… please let me…" he begs.

" _No_." Even though he knows how much Dorian needs it. Even though he needs it himself. His hands splaying over Dorian's lower back, urging him to where it hits them both just right. "Not yet. Don't you dare."

He tells him no, but his actions say anything but. He drags him down to the end of the bed, so he can plant his feet on the floor. Still gripping his waist, it gives him more power behind his thighs. Gives him the angle he needs to drive so deep inside he can't go any deeper. He's let Dorian call enough shots, and now he's intent on showing _his_ prowess, as well. And his is in pure, physical strength and the stamina to go with it. 

Bull wants to know what will happen. What will happen if he tells him no, and tries to force him over the edge. He's enraptured by the idea, and the thought of it tangles in his guts, dragging them out in clawed hands. There's a sharp, sharp cruelty in his smile, a dark glee and hunger that has him wanting to see… wanting to see if he'll break from bliss alone. If he'll yield, snap, turn, or… some other glorious explosion. 

"Don't. You. **Dare**."

The words go right through Dorian, and for a moment he feels like he's been hit in the chest; the sheer weight of them making his mind go hazy. And, were these normal circumstances, it would easily be enough to push him right under; desperate to obey, to please, to hold on until he goes mad with it.

He would enjoy that. A _lot_. He loves surrendering to Bull. Loves letting him seize control. Loves being pushed to breaking point, and beyond it.

But… his mind is not there right now, in that wonderful submissive place. His mind is _here_ , staring at the mark he's left on his lover's skin, watching the light from infinitely complex magic dance over both of them. Still high from too many power trips and too much emotion.

For a long moment, he's clearly hovering on the brink: fight or flight, top or bottom, resistance or surrender. And then something in him just _snaps_.

" _No_ ," he growls, launching himself upwards and throwing his arms around the other man's neck so he can hold on tight, and then – to the Void with it – _flooding_ out with as much magic as he can spare without losing the still-glittering lights. He's pushing sensation, static, pain, pleasure, but into both of them at once, fully intent on throwing them both over the edge together.

Consequences be damned.

It certainly works on him; making completion rip through him with furious intensity, his whole body wild with the strength of it, and he doesn't know whether it's agony, ecstasy, or both. The light behind him flares the instant his climax hits, almost painfully bright; colour shifting from gold to a brilliant blue-green, igniting into a thousand sparks as though the constellations themselves are being re-written.

_That's_ it, Bull thinks. There. Two equally powerful, stubborn and strong forces, meeting in the middle. He's not angry in the slightest, how could he be? He _wanted_ to push him beyond the edge, because he **needed** to see what would happen. 

And what happens, it seems, is the most glorious display of defiant happiness and ecstasy he can remember witnessing. Maybe it really is. Dorian determined to find his happy ending – _which he should_ – and not holding back a single thing in pursuit of it… it's the most incredible feeling ever.

Bull likes it when Dorian submits. Bull likes it just as much when he doesn't. When it comes down to it, he just… likes _the man himself_. 

His hands shake as he tries to hold him close, clutching Dorian tightly to his chest as the shared pleasure rips through him like a tsunami. He howls, low and wounded and so desperately, keenly proud and jubilant. It doesn't matter which way it goes, the only thing he wants is for them both to feel good, and _damn_ good. The climax has his hips twitching up, then pulling back from the too-bright sensation. He's bucking into it, then nearly retreating as the pulsing, spurting feelings threaten to overwhelm him utterly.

The dragon-shape flares, orange-gold in the chest, before a plume of almost-fire radiates from his head, and he's digging his nails in deep as the climax starts to peter out. 

And then he's panting, gasping in air, locking his knees and trying not to keel over. 

Dorian keeps clinging on to Bull with all the strength he has left. Which, right now, is not a lot. The glittering lights fade to nothing, and he has just enough energy to flick the lamps back into life before he drops back completely; exhausted, spent and smiling from ear to ear.

"…'f you're going to punish me for that, it won't work, because I'm not sorry…" he murmurs.

Bull follows him down, but has just enough strength to push him up the bed – still on his dick – enough to get his legs on the bed to settle on top of him.

"Mmm. But you like being punished, so… you can't tell me it wouldn't." He's grinning, clearly not the slightest bit upset. "Wanted to see what you'd do. Couldn't be angry with you anyway. Apparently… I'm too much of a damn fool in love with you to give a shit, so long as you're happy."

A very, very soft hand brushes a lick of damp hair back from the mage's face. "And you _are_ happy. So I am, too."

"I am," Dorian says, still looking and sounding blissfully out of his mind. "Desperately, utterly, unshakably happy. You fiend."

He shivers at the touch, hyper-sensitive all over and absolutely _thrumming_ with it. "I take it you liked that..?"

The question is partially smug pride, but partially relief, because he _is_ pleased he read it right and didn't push in the wrong way, and whilst he knows academically that Bull enjoys that side of him too, he's still glad of the reassurance.

The grey fingers whisper lightly over his temple, graze down his cheek, and then settle over his shoulder, where his palm presses into the place that would mirror the mark still healing on his own flesh. "Oh _yes_. If you haven't noticed… I just like _you_. The rest… mmm. Different outfits. Different music, sung in the tavern. But you are always you."

Bull moves to place the gentlest of kisses to Dorian's neck, very light rocking just to enjoy the near-pain of more. "I love that you… can be anything. That I can. That neither of us need to pretend, or… be afraid. Unless we _want_ to be a _little_ afraid…" 

He takes Dorian's left hand, pushes it into his right shoulder. "…thank you, for this. I know… it's not entirely conventional… but I enjoy seeing traces of you on me. And… it means… it means everything to me, that you would do it."

That makes Dorian smile much more softly. "I'm glad it makes you happy. I want you to be. You're _everything_ to me, and I…"

He bites his lip, suddenly emotional, and presses in closer to hide his face against Bull's non-marked shoulder. "…I don't know how I got so lucky. I'm just pleased I did."

"I think… well. I think being brave enough to leave everything you knew behind, for what you knew was _right_ … both for your own happiness, and for the world as well? Maybe that Maker of yours is watching out for you." Bull squeezes him, tighter. 

"You saved my whole _life_ , kadan. You. So… yeah. I know. I **know**. And… you're stuck with me, now, so it's good you don't mind. You marked the goods, there's no returning them now." 

"I'd never give you up," Dorian says, fierce with emotion. "Not if they offered me the whole world in return."

He means it, too. He's never had anyone or anything come close to making him feel the way Bull does: so _right_ , so _alive_ , so _free_. And joyous, too – Maker, yes – the kind of joy that threatens to burst out of him at every moment, too much for one mortal form to contain.

Because he can, the Iron Bull rolls them over, pulling Dorian on top of him to bundle him in big, sure arms. And a squeeze that's enough to push all the air out of him. And then some more. 

" _Asala_ ," he says, again. Soul-weapon. And scruffs his fingers through his hair. "We did good today. We know so much more. And… we know there's still a chance for your mentor. Things are looking better. So, so much better. I believe we can do this… all of this." 

"So do I," Dorian replies, and he does. He actually does.

He lies curled over the other man for a few minutes, just enjoying the contact, the closeness. _Him_. And then, because reality can't be ignored forever, he lifts his head again. "…unrelatedly, is there food? You brought food before. That suddenly sounds like a very good idea."

He doesn't even suggest going in search of wine to have with it. He must be in a good mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...before anyone starts to worry, we have the full 315k of this insane thing already written so more chapters will appear as the editing progresses! :-)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back! Have... a lot more smut. I'm not sure we realised _quite_ how extensive the smut was until we started posting it. But. Uhm... There will also be plot! Eventually! ;-)

The food helps. A lot. Dorian hadn't quite processed how hungry he was until he starts eating, at which point it becomes clear the answer is 'very'. Possibly the extended, vigorous sex has something to do with this. His mana pool is through the floor again too, and whilst food doesn't technically help with that – unless you lace it with lyrium, which is ill-advised – it still makes him feel better.

Once they're done with the food, they return to the bed, curling up together again. And _oh_ , but that's good. That's so very, very good. Dorian could just lie like this for hours…

There is nothing quite like postcoital, postprandial snuggling. When the body's needs are sated for the moment, and you can focus on the other things. Thoughts. Feelings. Sensations without a base drive. (Not that Bull doesn't also enjoy base drives, it's just that they tend to take priority when they are active, and the other things have less focus.)

With several pillows propped up behind them, Bull has Dorian plastered to his side, under one arm. He draws loose figures and shapes over his skin, and stretches his legs out under the not-quite-decadent-enough sheets. 

They'll have nice ones. When they settle. Really nice ones. And also really easy to clean ones. Or, possibly, hire someone who is good at cleaning them. 

Regularly.

He can't quite believe he's actually daydreaming about soft furnishings, and he wonders if that's Dorian's fault. (Nope. He liked those things long before, but now he has a reason to pursue them.) 

"Kadan…" he starts, as another breeze of thoughts drifts through. 

"Mmmmm?" Dorian murmurs. He wasn't asleep, but he was definitely close to dozing; blissfully happy and relaxed. "Yes, amatus?"

"Would… it be Minrathous you wanted to settle in, eventually? Or… or would you want to go back to your hometown? Or… wander between them…?"

The question makes Dorian feel strange inside… a spiral of warmth at the memory that Bull really wants to go back to Tevinter with him. He knows it will be dangerous. But… he can't live without the man. He just can't. And he'll have to go back eventually. Tevinter may hate him, but it's also in his blood.

"Minrathous, I think," he answers. "If I'm going to try to change things, I need to be there, where the seat of power is. Although… if it works, and we don't get run out of the country, we could perhaps have a summer house in Qarinus…"

"And… the occasional dragon-hunting trip, yes?" Because: dragons. Bull likes dragons. A lot. He squirms a bit at the thought. "I just… really love hunting them. I'm not saying I can't do _some_ settling… just… you know. I want a little bit of that, too…" 

"Oh, I'm sure we won't stay put all the time," Dorian answers, with a smile. He would do so – happily – but he knows Bull needs more than that, and given that the man is willing to take a huge risk in moving to Tevinter with him, the least he can do is make sure he doesn't get bored.

Bull winds a finger into the chain around his lover's neck. "Have you ever seen a dragon? Fought one?"

"No," Dorian answers. "I've read about them, of course – there's been some fairly extensive research over the years – but I've never seen or fought one. It sounds… like something you would enjoy more than me."

Although, he could enjoy Bull enjoying it. So it wouldn't be a total disaster.

"Oh, _kadan_. They're beautiful. All of them different… like your magics. They all have their… elements, I suppose you'd say? And the power in them…" Bull blows an appreciative, low whistle through his pursed lips. "You might not enjoy the fight as much as me, but… I think you'd appreciate them. Such _strength_. Like… like the most powerful mage, and a Qunari combined… maybe that's why they lock away the _Saarebas_. But a dragon… a dragon is even _more_..."

His voice is lyrical, truly dreamy as he drifts on memories. "Other than you, they are my favourite thing. You can't really understand until you've seen it up-close. Felt the whole world shake when they land. And… I don't know. Something about them… something about them just…" How can he explain it? It's more feeling than thought. 

"...but I'm just being… I guess you think I'm exaggerating. I just hope when we do get to fight one, you appreciate it half as much as me…"

It's hard not to be drawn in by Bull's enthusiasm, even though Dorian is not wholly in favour of the idea of fighting _dragons_. Although he does wonder if you could resurrect a dead one using necromancy and then set it on your enemies, and… OK, Dorian, no.

"I know you're not exaggerating," he says. "And I can see why you would find them so enthralling. All that raw power, and strength… mmmmm." He sounds equally dreamy, but he's looking up at Bull as he speaks, remembering the glowing wings in his magical aura.

" _They_ are savage. I know your people think that of mine, but… no. We're just a different type of culture. A dragon, though… it's a true force of nature. Primal, raw…" Bull feels the shudder go right down his spine. " _Ah_ , I get tingly just thinking about them."

And then he looks down, a little guiltily. "But not like _that_. Just… the energy. Like a good ale or wine can make your interest peak. Did you know some say the Tamassran mixed dragon blood with ours? Sometimes I think I believe it. No other race looks quite like us… or them…"

"It's all right, you know," Dorian tells him, with a soft laugh. "You're allowed to be excited by things. I can get high as a kite doing really powerful magic, and I'm not at all ashamed of that. And… wait, what? Your people are part _dragon?_ That would… explain a lot, actually."

His tone isn't at all unkind as he says this, though he makes a mental note to see if there's anything in the ancient literature which might back the rumour up. When he finally gets back to Tevinter, at least.

"It's something that many Ben-Hassrath think. Like your people select your… dynastic breeding to secure a magically powerful heir… Well. The Temassrans guide the Qunari breeding for every purpose. For farmers, fighters, and everything in-between. There's speculation that maybe magic, or… blood… or maybe even dragon-blood magic, who knows…" Bull cocks his head to one side.

"You don't think it's crazy, do you? I mean, it _could_ be real. You can have half-elf and half-human and half-dwarf kids… not all in one, I mean…" He makes a gesture of multiple fingers which does not actually come close to illustrating it. 

"I don't think it's crazy," Dorian answers. "Not at all. I'd be fascinated to know how they did it, though… for academic reasons, you understand."

"Hey, if you can find out without – you know – cutting me up or shit… go for it." 

Then Bull perks up. "That's it! You can do the most _badass_ magic while I'm charging in, we kill the dragon, and _then_...!" The satisfied grunt says it all. "You think you could make my axe go on fire without setting me on fire, too?"

Dorian looks pleased again. "Of course I could. Putting temporary enchantments on weapons is easy. I could _also_ make you look like you had great, glowing wings, though sadly you wouldn't actually be able to fly…"

"Oh _now_ we're talking. Can you **imagine** what people would think, a 'Qunari' draped in magic, then a fucking _Vint_ genius death-machine right behind?" Bull hoots in gleeful anticipation. "Yes! Oh they'd _crap_ themselves! We gotta do it, kadan. I'll shock troop them, then you fire over my head, and I cut their legs off… I don't need to fly, I'll just jump and their ancestors will shit _themselves_ in their damn graves!"

Dorian can't help a smirk at that, and a little purr of pleasure as he pushes up enough to kiss Bull on the jaw. "I love it when you get enthusiastic. And… we can try it, you know. So long as we're not fighting templars. It might cause some… concern… when the stories get out, but it will have been worth it."

He's still getting used to fighting alongside a non-mage, but suddenly his mind is racing with the possibilities. A lot of combat magic is as much about the visuals and emotions as it is about the damage done. You can make a person run screaming from the field without a scratch on them, if you know what you're doing.

" _Kadan_. We **want** the stories. We want them to shit themselves when they think about the Iron Bull and his terrifying Tevinter… do we call you an apostate? I guess they would. You get more money as a merc if you're known, and you have the fight in the bag if they're scared before they even _see_ you… why do you think I picked the name?"

Bull offers his throat, and then grabs hold of him, pulling Dorian to sit sideways across his lap. "It'd send off all but the most insane templars, too. Plus, I can--" he pauses, just for a moment. "...I could… help. If you want to practice non-magical fighting. I'm not saying you _need_ it, but I do have more experience. Plus… you're hot as hell when you're sweaty and dangerous."

"I'd like that," Dorian says, settling into place again. "Non-magical fighting is not my speciality, though I do have some training."

This much was surely evident during the battle with the templars. If he _didn't_ have that training, he'd likely be dead right now. Ranged combat is all well and good, but it gets messy when your enemy charges straight up to you.

Then he looks pleased. "Plus, I think fighting with you would be… _fun_. You're very skilled, after all. Very strong. Hard to overpower…"

These are all good and genuine points from a training perspective, and they're meant as such. The undertones of something _else_ , however, are also deliberate. And true.

"You'd have to remember to _actually_ fight back. At least to start off. Although if you start getting…" Bull's hand moves to slide up Dorian's leg, "...connotations… and react in the real deal… mmmmnnnn. That _also_ can put the enemy way, way off-kilter. A turned on, eager, deadly killer?"

Bull grabs Dorian's crotch, and squeezes. "You win the fight in the mind, you've won the rest of the battle. And if you can stand up to me… though we'll need to put you against Krem, too. For the size and weight and so on. Then you don't forget to rescale your attacks… and he won't flinch if you hit on him. Except maybe hit _at_ you."

Dorian arches shamelessly in pleasure, then curls in once more. "Oh, I'd fight back. If I'm fighting, I'm not in the mood to surrender willingly…" Unwillingly, however, is a very different matter.

"I promise not to hit on him too much," he adds. "Maybe a little. Tactically. But he's been around me long enough to know I only have eyes for you now. Of course, our enemies don't know that, so if I _do_ pick up some connotations, I'll be sure to make good use of them."

"Yeah, just meant don't worry about it. If you pop a boner when you're wrestling with him, he won't freak out. Might mock you. Just tell him you thought he might want to borrow it for a while." Bull's grin says he's well aware that Krem wouldn't mind, and it's because of experience. He'd been careful at first, careful to test what was and wasn't acceptable.

But they'd soon found out the best thing to do was just to laugh about it. And Krem had been _much_ happier, ever since that. 

"...but he does know you're _very_ much off the market, if he even liked guys…" Bull runs the back of his middle finger over Dorian's cock, the pressure light and steady. "And I _like_ when you fight back. I also like not knowing who will win, sometimes… keeps it… _interesting_. Means I can't let my guard down…"

"Mmmmm… you really can't," Dorian murmurs, his eyes going slightly hazy at that. "Even if you think I'm being _so_ very good, I could flip at any time… fight back, make you work for it. It's fun, after all. And I like being worth the effort."

His tone is light, but there's weight behind it too. He _does_ like being worth the effort, not because he thinks he isn't anymore, but because it's a good reminder to have.

"Yeeaaaah…" Oh, Bull can't help but moan at the thought. He turns, so it's just what passes for fingertips, and they milk oh-so-delicately over his thickening cock. "You might like to ride the Iron Bull, but riding you is like fucking a thunderstorm…"

He pushes Dorian's head back, just nuzzling for the moment, stubble-rough cheek against sensitive skin. "Don't you think I'll get lazy. Or complacent. Or stale… I want that fight until we're both at risk of breaking bones. And I'll _still_ want to dance our dance, kadan. Fuck, but you're perfect. And I _still_ can't work out how to really take my time with you… you just… nnnnfff. Make my blood boil…" 

Dorian looks ridiculously pleased with himself, dropping his head back all the more to give the other man as much access as he wants. He reaches up with one hand to hold on, just loving the attention right now. And the words. _Fuck_ , but it's good to be wanted so much. It makes him feel giddy, all the way through.

"I do seem to have that effect on you, yes," he purrs, happily. "I like it. I like that no matter how hard you try, eventually you just _have_ to take me _now_. And you know I can't resist you when you do, not really. Not for any length of time. I need you too badly…"

"Maybe should get us those rings… enchanted or not… probably the only way I could keep it from taking over…" Bull moves his hand lower, gently cupping his balls, jiggling them on his palm and then pushing his thumb between them, and up into the very base of his dick. "You _should_ like it. No one's ever made me crazy. And it's the best kind of crazy…"

Bull paws with his other hand, fingers streaking up and over his torso, up to find a nipple to pluck to firmness. Over to his throat, to draw over his windpipe and pulse. "Should tell me… if there's anything you like we haven't done. If there even is… in the privy of a tavern? In a warm bath? Blindfolded? Covered in hot wax seals? Weird magic shit? Buggered by my horns?"

The teasing is not yet too much for Dorian, but it's getting closer, and he's starting to whimper in need every so often. He won't beg for more this early on, but it's clear he wants it.

"Hmmmm… blindfolds, oh yes, we should try that… and candle wax, too… especially if I was tied down, a helpless canvas for you to work on… and in a hot spring, _kaffas_ , yes, with water deep enough to float in whilst we take turns riding each other…"

"Then peel each layer of wax off… under my knife… your skin smooth and soft below…" Bull moves his fingers back, running from sac to hole and back again. Slow, firm strokes. Slow, firm twists of that hardening nub. He leans over to lap it damp, then carries on pinching and tweaking. 

"After a battle. Take you there bloody. Wash all the sweat and blood from you. Bathe you and cleanse you… your heart still racing from the fight. Sink my fingers into your hair… knead the knots from your muscles… push my thumbs into you while I bite your ass… you have _such_ a nice ass…"

He's not behaving now. But he doesn't need to, so why should he? Bull wraps a hand around Dorian's throat, pulling him around and down so he's sideways and supine over his lap. He bends his own knees a little, so he can dip his fingers into his lover's ass. "Oh, tell me what our wedding night will be… I want to hear those _delicious_ thoughts of yours…" 

Dorian doesn't resist in the slightest, dropping his head back and revelling in the attention. Right now he's _very_ happy to let Bull take the lead, giving himself over to whatever the other man wants.

He can still answer, though. It's not as if he hasn't thought about it extensively since Bull proposed.

"Huge bed, silk sheets, candles everywhere…" he says, letting the image flood his mind. "A roaring fire, if we're still in the south," which he realises they probably will be, "so I don't have to worry about the cold. And then… _you_... slowly peeling me out of _the_ most incredible outfit I've ever worn, lying me delicately back on those silk sheets… and then _ravishing my brains out_ because you've spent all day having to sort-of behave and at last you really, _really_ don't…"

"What outfit? I know you've designed it… I want to imagine how you'd look before I opened my wedding gift." Bull sounds as enthralled as Dorian is, as he just uses those two fingers to stretch and widen, still holding and massaging his throat. 

"Maybe I'll anoint you with oils and spice, rub into your body so you're slick and relaxed and ready for me. Because I am going to be _so_ ready to take you. I'm going to bring the bed down around us. I'm going to fuck you so hard you think you're _in_ the Black City… and then I'm going to fuck you back to when it was Golden…"

"Ohh… that sounds _really_ good, yes, do that," Dorian murmurs. "And… I mean, _of course_ I've designed the outfit; fashions allowing, naturally. A full-length robe, off one shoulder… buckles from neck to waist and then flaring out beneath the belt… Deep blues and greens with gold piping, knee-high boots… oh, and maybe a gold coronet with my family crest, if I can get it made in time… And that's to say nothing of the _other_ accessories, oh, I will have to get everything polished, and then there's the question of _capes_..."

So… yes, he's been thinking about it. A bit.

Bull decides he likes this, and his other hand comes to start palming Dorian's cock against his belly, pushing it up and flat, gliding beneath it. He slows the fingers inside, putting pressure on the channel, bearing down to bore him open and feel him twitch. 

"You're going to need to put me in _very_ tight trousers, the kind I can't sit down in. Or _everyone_ is going to see how much I want to pop every stitch and seam… and push you down on my dick until you scream… maybe I'll let you keep the boots on for the first go. Maybe… I'll have an outfit I dress you _in_ when we take that one off…" 

"Mmmmmmmm… I'd like that too," Dorian says, biting his lip as the attention starts to get a little more intense. "Perhaps something consisting of nothing but slender gold chains and the odd artful scrap of silk… I have an idea for one of those as well…"

He drops his head further back, whimpering again. "Y-you'll have to be so _restrained_ all day… we both will. I can only imagine what it will be like when there's nothing to stop us anymore…"

"You read my mind… though the chains were going to be enchanted, so you'd not be able to use your magic until I was ready… not to punish you. But so when you _can_ , it'll be such a **release**. Like that first time… but better." Bull curls his hand now, starting to tug and twist. His fingers inside bend, aiming to graze against the spot inside that has Dorian whining. 

"Restrained all day… then restrained all night. Maybe I'll put you in a cock ring, too, so every single time I come, all you can do is take it. Over and over. Maybe you'll come, but not all the way. Maybe you'll ride that knife-edge of need until you _wish_ you could set me on fire just with your eyes… but you'll have no magic, and you'll have no power… and you won't be **able** to come, so when I finally _do_ let you free…" 

"...everyone in Thedas will hear me _screaming_ out my devotion to you," Dorian manages, gripping the sheets in one hand and the edge of the bed in the other, trying to coast out the stimulation and not fall to pieces. It is far from easy now. "And _you_... oh, my dear Iron Bull… you'll get to see _all_ of my power."

He has to save _something_ for the big night, after all. Hopefully he won't need to do anything important for the next few days afterwards, like stand.

"I. Can't. **Wait**." Bull bends to bite fiercely at his mouth, his grip working rapidly, violently, chasing the way Dorian's body pushes and needs. He knows how to bring him to the edge, knows how to use just the hint of nails. Just the slightest pinch below the flare. Knows how to finger him brusquely, aiming to get him to that crest and hold him there. He forces his tongue into his mouth, growling and determined to get him off, and off as hard as he dares. 

" _Oh_ yes," Dorian gasps, really starting to succumb to the pleasure now. "Yes… please… please don't stop… _fuck_... I'm so… so close… I..!" And then Bull is kissing him, so anything else gets somewhat violently muffled by the other man's tongue. Not that this makes Dorian any _quieter_ , of course; just less coherent.

It's certainly more than enough to undo him, and he comes after only another moment; hips jerking up in Bull's grip as rough bliss rips through him, making him cry out again. And fuck, fuck, but that's so very _good_.

It's always enjoyable to feel Dorian's climax on all levels. The hot gushing that splatters over them both, and the clenching around his fingers. Bull keeps his hands moving, even after he pulls up from the kiss. Watching his lover's face as he pushes him through the echoes until he's twitching. Then his fingers inside still (mostly), and he brings the other hand up to lap audibly clean. His tongue stretches out to slick between his fingers, and he makes an appreciative noise at the taste. 

"I'm going to _try_ to be slow with you… next time. It's easier when you're already one step up the ladder." He puts his hand back, this time just cupping his crotch and idly squeezing and jiggling. "Can't have you thinking I'm too fast a fuck, can I?" 

"I would _never_ think that, amatus," Dorian manages, sounding blissfully hazy. "And I'm taking it as a compliment that you always end up _ravishing_ me, no matter what your initial plans were. I like to think I'm irresistible like that…"

He smiles winningly (or what he hopes is winningly) up at the other man, still just lying where he is and enjoying the little aftershocks shivering through him.

"Hey, if I _start_ slow… then ravishing later is good, right? And you **know** I can't keep my hands – or dick – off you." Said dick is currently nuzzling him from below, but Bull is doing his best to keep his arousal in check enough to wait his turn. 

Next, he leaves his dick to curl to one side as he begins to palm and knead over his torso, never staying anywhere too long, chasing over sighs and moans. His chest hurts when he sees Dorian looking up at him, and it makes him swallow. Hard. "Kadan."

Much as it is very nice to lie here and enjoy the feeling of those strong, clever hands all over him, Dorian wants to return the favour, and the other man's tone makes him suddenly even more eager to do so. So he sits up and shifts position, so he's straddling Bull's hips, with the other man's cock now pressed against his ass, promising but not (yet) delivering.

"Amatus," he breathes, softly, leaning in to speak close to Bull's lips, arms around his shoulders. "Let me make this good for you…"

"I wanted to make it good for _you_." There's amusement in his tone, as he wraps his arms around him. "Or are you going to make sure I don't ravish you until you're _actually_ ready for it?" 

Little, whispery kisses all around his smile, and Bull's hands move to ply and prise at his mage's shoulders, digging into any lingering tension and working out the kinks. "I could be persuaded… you _are_ good at this. Too good." A rock of his hips lets his dick slide through that still-slippery crease. It's difficult to say no to that, after all. 

That makes Dorian smile. "You can ravish me any time you like. And if that's what you want, then _please_ , go right ahead. You know I'll be begging you not to stop before you've even got me on my back. But… if you want a little encouragement first… I'm sure I can oblige."

He gives a roll of the hips to emphasise – aha – the point, arching under those hands and deliberately showing off his body in the process. Wanting to give the other man every motivation to take him up on his offer… and to throw caution to the wind and ravish him, all at once. Because choices are fun when both options are exactly what you want.

"Mmm, maybe I want to be respectful. Fight my worse nature. Maybe I want to treat you like the Magister's firstborn, precious thing that you are… swaddle you, wrap you in silk sheets…" Bull's grin widens. "And you're _desperate_ to get fucked properly. Really, really hard… I'd need persuading to give up my word and take you like a cheap tavern whore…"

He lets his hands follow the sinuous wave of Dorian's spine, and chases it back up again. "Because you know I _want_ to fuck you through the wall. Floor. Whatever lasts longest when we hit it… but I _shouldn't_... and I fight oh-so-hard to resist your tempting ways… because of how much I love and respect you…" His grin is nearly dragon-maw wide, now. " _And you have to remind me I can love and respect you whilst fucking you so hard your legs shake for hours after_."

"You _should_ be respectful," Dorian purrs, loving this because it is _definitely_ going to end well no matter which way it goes. "I am _terribly_ important, after all. Refined. Dignified."

He leans in, so he can speak into Bull's ear; hands on his chest – one very close to the new mark there – as he does. "It would be such a travesty if you took advantage of that. _Imagine_ the scandal… the scion of a noble family, ravished by a dangerous enemy of the Imperium… _seduced_ by his silver tongue and then _used_ for _hours_... and he **wants** it, too. Now doesn't that sound like something you'd enjoy..?"

Bull scruffs Dorian's hair at the nape of his neck, pulling and twisting him until he's forced to look up at him. "Dignified? You learned your tricks from wenches who dance on dicks for a few copper pieces… you're filthier than my boots, and just as easy to slip into…"

To prove it, he reaches around and thrusts a finger in. "Oh, I _want_ to treat you right. I want you to be my pristine, dainty, dignified consort. I _want_ that civility… civility I wasn't born to. They think I'm scum, but I know exactly which fork to use and when. They _think_ I'm ham-fisted. Dumb. A beast of burden… driven only by my libido and my stomach, or maybe my lust for blood, too…" He pushes that finger harder. 

"They _think_ I just threw you over my shoulder. Held you open and reamed you raw. They don't know you danced like the tavern-girl and showed me all your wares. They don't know you rutted at my thighs like an animal in heat, pretending I was the brute, the savage… the one I am hiding so far down… pushing me until I _snap_ from the lies and **pin you down and use you** like you wanted all along…"

He licks a path up to his ear, then tugs at the lobe. " _Show me why I can't say no_. No one needs to know you're the desperate, whorish slut for my cock. No one but me needs to know you begged me for it."

Dorian gives a rough laugh, sounding utterly punch-drunk and totally delighted. "Filthy I may be, but _you're_ the one who can't get enough of me. _You're_ the one I seduced into my lair, and you didn't even negotiate a price because you _know_ I'll be worth it…"

He lifts his hips, riding Bull's finger with shameless pride, staring back at him with dark, pleasure-shot eyes. "And I _will_ beg you for it. Beg you to throw me down, _hold_ me down, slam into me over and over. Beg you to make me scream so hard I don't know whether I'm pleading for mercy or for more… or _both_. And maybe you'll resist. Maybe you'll keep up this pretence of being all well-behaved, and not so easily led astray… but I know you'll snap, when you _need_ me too badly and your self-control gets forgotten in a haze of _primal **lust**_."

"Oh, I'll jack-hammer you, alright. Until you're wishing you knew how to cast ice up your ass, just to be able to _sit_ the next day. Not because it hurts, but because it's still _throbbing_ and pushing out the load upon load I filled you with… still swollen from lust and every breath a torture because you move and I'm no longer inside you…" Bull keeps hold of his hair, and slips the second finger inside, flexing them hard. 

"You're _mad_. Sex-crazed, cock-hungry and _oh so ready_ to do anything for attention… I may have walked into your lair, but you won't want _anyone_ else to walk in after me, because **no one** can appreciate you, all of you, like me." 

Bull moves fast, and firmly. He has Dorian face-first on the bed, the fingers in his rear curled to hook and tug him up onto his knees. "You're not ready, yet. You're not ready until you can't live without me inside of you. Shaping you to fit me, making you **ache** all the way to your **bones**. Come on, Pavus slut. Show me you'll last long enough for me…" Three fingers, ramming in with all of Bull's strength behind them. 

If Dorian _hadn't_ come once already, he'd likely be screaming the roof off at that, but the recent release gives him slightly more of a chance of withstanding it… at least for a little longer. Certainly not for _long_.

"I'll do anything for _your_ attention," he gasps, sounding needy now. "You, and only you. Please… _please_ , fuck me senseless. Make me howl out my devotion to you. Claim me, use me, make it so that nothing and no one could _ever_ make me feel the way you do… I need you inside me, taking what's yours… _yours_... always… **please**."

Bull can be just as perverse as Dorian. Just as awkward. Which is why he pulls his fingers out, and prises Dorian's cheeks open.

And then pushes his tongue up and in, fucking him with that instead. He drags harsh whorls around the well-used rim, and reaches around to start mercilessly jerking his dick. The other hand finds Dorian's, laces their fingers, and holds it into the bed. 

Begging is very, very, _very_ good. But you don't give your man what he wants the first time he asks. No, not when you know he'll love something else all the more. His nose pushed as firmly into the crack of his arse as he can manage, Bull delivers precisely the 'silver tongue' Dorian accused him of. Just not how he meant. 

"Oh… yes… _yes!_ " Dorian cries out, because that was a _good_ surprise, and he likes those. "Like that… like that… _please_... **fuck**... yesyesyes _yes!_ "

Right now, the only word not in Dorian's vocabulary is 'shame', although you could be forgiven for thinking his vocabulary consists primarily of 'yes', 'please', and 'fuck', judging by the way he can't stop gasping some combination of all three of them. His hips shake under the strain of the position and the very forceful attention, and he's now actively resisting the urge to beg for _more_ , just so that it doesn't sound as though he's giving in too easily. Just… easily enough.

Bull grins, then he lets go of Dorian's hand… only to push his nails into one shoulderblade and score four thin, pink lines down to his ass. He doesn't stop the rimming, or the jerking, but he waits to see the response to the additional stimulus before he goes further.

Fantasising about it is one thing. Actually experiencing it can be another, and he needs to find where Dorian's sweet spot is. 

And it _is_ starting to get a little too much. This is not in itself a bad thing, but it does have a tendency to make Dorian louder. And more _desperate_.

"... _please_ ," he begs, but he's clearly gone from simple enjoyment to _need_. "Please… please, I need you… please fuck me… not having you inside me is _torture_ and I want to be good for you, so good, I want to give you _everything_... _ohplease_..."

He can't help pushing back against the hand holding him down – despite the fact his other hand is free – but precisely what he's trying to accomplish, even he doesn't entirely know.

The tongue doesn't stop immediately, and a chuckle vibrates into Dorian's ass at the outburst. Eventually, Bull pulls back and kisses one cheek. "Oh… _kadan_. I will give it to you. Not yet, but I will." 

There's a strange little sub-tone to his voice, now. Bull likes it when Dorian's truly desperate. He likes it when it's too much. When he's beyond his comfort zone, and ready to snap. "You'll give me everything. More than you ever thought possible. But it'll be when _I'm_ ready."

His arm pulls back, and a solid slap lands right on one buttock, hard enough to rock him on his knees. "Do you really want to give me _everything_? Do you know what that means?" He bends down, right by his ear. "Do you know everything I _want_ from you?"

Dorian cries out at that, as much from the shock as the pain, and a sudden shiver runs through him at the other man's tone. _Does_ he know? He hopes so. He doesn't like to miss things, and he genuinely _wants_ to do what will make Bull happiest. And whilst he might misbehave sometimes… OK, often… it's only ever out of intense affection.

"T-tell me," he whispers, and the nervous edge to his tone is very real. "Please. I'm _yours_."

"What if I told you… that I want to see you cry? That I want to hurt you, until it's more than pleasure?" Bull's hand is gentle on his ass, even though it will still be stinging from the slap. "What if I told you I want to rip you entirely apart… and _then_ fuck what remains of you, until you forget anything but what it feels like where I touch you, and when I don't?"

His lips touch Dorian's cheek, very lightly. "I want to _own_ you. I want to own _everything_ about you, even your agony. I want to show you how beautiful it can be to do nothing but _feel_."

The words go right through Dorian like shards of ice, and his breath catches for what feels like a long time. It's not as if they haven't been rough already. Or as if Dorian hasn't surrendered _completely_. But… Bull means more than that this time, doesn't he?

And Dorian… Dorian is a committed hedonist. Obsessed with pleasure. But… pleasure of many kinds. And if he fantasises about the things he fantasises about… he should at least find out what it's _really_ like.

"...do it," he whispers, soft but sure. "Please. I trust you."

Another kiss, just below his eye. "It will hurt. You will want it to stop. You will not understand. But I will not stop, not unless you are injured, in danger, or you use your watchword. And I will control _everything_." 

Bull pulls a handkerchief from his things, then moves Dorian's hands up and behind his head. He urges the hands to clasp, and then binds his wrists together. "You can shout. You can scream. You can threaten. If I am not happy, I will stop until you behave again. If I am not happy, you will be told the consequences if you continue. I will _not_ permit you to harm yourself. Do you understand?" 

Fuck. _Fuck_. That tone by itself has Dorian's head spinning. The words are almost enough to send him over the edge, and he feels suddenly _vulnerable_.

"Y-yes," he manages, trying not to sound _quite_ so nervous. Not at all unwilling, oh no, but it's not unreasonable to experience a certain amount of apprehension. Right?

Bull takes hold of the man's waist, and pulls his ass up and plants his knees where he wants them. He's right at the foot of the bed, on his shoulders, head turned, and rump on display. It looks… delicious. And he can't help but give his cock a few anticipatory tugs, grunting in satisfaction as he does. 

"Ask your questions now. I will not allow speech other than answers to questions, or exclamations, once we begin." 

Questions. Dorian's mind is racing with questions; all of them very intense and very immediate. But they feel like the sort of questions he _shouldn't_ voice, rather than things he actually needs to know for safety or sanity reasons. And if there's anything else he's supposed to do, or not do, he's confident Bull will tell him.

"...I don't need to ask anything," he says, quietly. Trying to push down his need to act out, fired up by what they've done so far, so that he can focus on surrendering. "I trust you."

"Good boy." 

Bull picks up a lantern, and places it beside the bed, dragging the table right to Dorian's eyeline. "You can control the flame, no matter what, can't you?"

"I… yes, yes, I can," Dorian answers, surprised by that particular question. But it's true. He can, and that kind of simple manipulation doesn't take much strength or mental acuity.

"Instead of words, you will focus on this. You will express yourself in the colour, size, intensity of the flame. And if you are unable to use your watchword, you will extinguish the flame." His voice is oh-so-level and in control. 

He's in an entirely different place, now. One much deeper than usual. More focused, more keen. 

"Demonstrate for me."

So Dorian does. The flame first grows in intensity, until it's as much as the lantern can handle, and then slowly reduces whilst changing from orange, to purple, to green, and then back to orange. And then he quenches it entirely, just for a few seconds, before making it flare back to normal life again.

And… he doesn't quite dare speak. But he hopes the action was sufficient.

" _Good_." Bull allows his voice to suffuse with praise, and stroke his thumb over Dorian's cheek, just a tiny show of affection and approval. 

And then Bull walks around to the other side of the bed, and slides one palm from shoulder to ass. Lifts, then again. Over and over, until Dorian is used to the gesture. 

Then, when he reaches his ass, he lifts, then spanks, hard. Holds. Lifts, and repeats from shoulder to blow and back again. 

" _Fuck_ ," Dorian gasps, before he can stop himself; biting his lip to keep from saying anything else. The pain of the blow goes right through him, and this is probably not the best time to remember _just_ how strong the other man is.

...maybe it _is_ the best time. Possibly both.

His bound hands clench and unclench, trying to focus on the _sensation_ first and foremost, and not on the awareness that Bull has him _right_ where he wants him. Again.

"Pain is just sensation, the same as any other. A warning that you are either injured, or at the risk of it…" He slaps the other cheek, this one firm enough to rock Dorian hard on his knees. "The trick is to stay on the right side of harm… and then enjoy the intensity. If you learn all there is to know about your body… you learn your limits are much more extensive than you first imagined."

The next round is two slaps. The one after, the other cheek, three. 

"When I do fuck you – when I do finally give you what we _both_ need – you will know yourself more. And you will know _me_." 

Several of the blows make Dorian cry out, though he manages not to say anything coherent, and just _vocalises_ the pain. Because it does hurt. It's not overwhelming, but he knows it isn't meant to be yet.

Yet.

Not responding to the _words_ is harder, though, because he's a natural conversationalist. At first he sort of shakes a little from the sentences inside his head that can't get out, and then he remembers the flame. The barest effort, and it intensifies just enough to be obvious, before flickering first blue-green and then pink. _Us_.

" _Yes_." Bull grabs his lover's shoulders, voice echoing with satisfaction at Dorian's obvious obedience, at something he knows he doesn't find easy to do. His thumbs push into the muscles, his fingers clawing in without his nails, massaging just the other side of pure pleasure and into discomfort. "You will understand so much more, _kadan-ashkaari_. I will show you what we can be, together. How we can go so deep the lines between us blur."

Bull kneels behind the bed, and takes hold of Dorian's feet. His thumbs find the pressure-points, and sink into his soles as he thrusts his tongue back inside. Pleasure, at the same time as pain. 

To do this for someone is a gift. To put all your effort into reading their mind, body, and soul. To take control, and therefore responsibility, and do everything you can to keep them safe and well. It fills all of Bull's head, and there's no room for his own needs as he's mapped all of Dorian across his mind and vision. He needs to watch the tells, read the noises, feel the twitches and gaps between breaths. He needs to measure his words, his touches, and his mood to be what Dorian requires, and it is… a service. A service to love, honour, and protect. His hands go to the man's ass, and push in there, next. 

Dorian howls in shock at that, trying to coast out the wave of pleasure-pain; eyes jammed shut as he struggles against the cocktail of urges spiralling around in his head. He wants to beg for mercy. He wants to beg for more. He wants to _incite_ Bull to go all-out, just to see what it's like, and he wants to plead with the other man to never do such a thing.

It's… complicated. And made simultaneously far more so _and_ far less so by the fact he's not allowed to speak. He really is desperate to obey that, even though he's well-aware he might not be able to do it forever. And… a little scared of the consequences. Also, enticed by the consequences.

Yes. It's _complicated_.

Right now, the flame is his only real outlet to express himself – beyond the incoherent gasps and cries – and he makes it intensify again, keeping the colour steady this time but gradually increasing how fast it flickers.

The sounds, the wriggles and twitches… Bull laps it all up as he laps at the traces of his last release, mixed with the lube inside Dorian's hole. He lets a purr vibrate his lips, then slips out only to bite at one, taut cheek. 

"You see… when you cannot talk, you are forced to _listen_. Not just to me, but to **yourself**. No one who talks as much or as long as you is truly listening to themselves… even if they work through things aloud. There are things you will only hear in the silent moments." 

He moves again, and curls his left hand around the base of Dorian's cock, then rubs the other in circles over his rump. "You do not need to speak to be heard, kadan. You do not need to speak to be understood." His slaps this time are rhythmic, without the stroking between. A steady, percussive pattern that builds and builds, then wanes to almost-nothing. Each time a little harder, a little longer, guiding his body through the stages to build up his tolerance. "I want to hear you cry. Not for mercy, not for more: just **cry**."

Dorian is an emotional soul, oh yes, but he's not one to cry. Not easily. So if Bull is planning to push him that far… he knows it will take a lot. And _anyone_ who isn't frightened by something that is either mad, lying or… well. Tranquil.

He bites his lip. Hard. Speaking is what he does. He is an _excellent_ speaker. But… it's also a defence mechanism, and he knows it. The more he talks, the more he can control what people see and don't see; hear and don't hear. He can paint the picture he needs as his shield, so no one can tell what's behind it. Not even him.

He isn't afraid to share his true and honest self with Bull. He's told the man more than enough already, and of course Bull notices things no one else ever has. But it's _himself_ who he doesn't want to see, not completely. He may not have a multitude of physical scars, like Bull does, but the mental ones are old, and deep, and some of them hurt if he touches them.

The flame shrinks down to a much smaller, dimmer size without him even thinking about it, and it's far too obvious to hide by the time he realises what he's done.

Bull bends to kiss the hands clasped behind his head, pausing the slaps, and caressing for a moment, instead. "I know. I know you're afraid. You've needed the words for so long. It's what's kept you safe, in the world."

Punishment – and control – aren't only about pain. He pushes two fingers into his hole, holding them perfectly still. Dainty, delicate jerks and twists of the hand between his legs. 

"...but you know this is what you want. You wouldn't fantasise about it so intensely if you didn't. You wouldn't feel your thoughts skitter towards it when you're not focussing. You wouldn't _wonder_. But you do… I know you. And you're the kind who _needs to know everything_ , even if it hurts. Aren't you?"

He asks deliberately, waiting to see how Dorian chooses to respond. 

Somehow the gentle contact hurts more than the rough blows, because it's easier to coast out pain when it's _just_ pain. The lighter touches are far more resonant with emotion and meaning and _them_ and they push down on Dorian's mind with a much greater weight.

" _...yes..._ " he gasps, because Bull _did_ say he could speak to answer questions, but he manages to keep it to just that in case he's not supposed to elaborate. The other man can always push him for more if he wants it, and… also Dorian isn't certain that's a line of thinking he can go down right now, so for once he's hopeful of an excuse not to.

It's true, though. It _is_ what he wants, and that much he won't deny. He isn't certain at what point in his life he started wanting it, but he knows some semblance of the desire has been there for a long time. There's just never been anyone he could possibly trust enough to admit that to – or explore it with – until now.

He needs to know. If he can take it. What it feels like. What it would be like if he _couldn't_ take it anymore. Who he is, without all his walls and illusions.

He needs to know. And also he needs _not_ to. And the contradiction is sending his mind round and round in circles that won't resolve.

"You will never truly relax until you know who you are, kadan. And you are so close – so much closer than most – which is why you've built such glittering, slippery, unassailable walls. Do you blame the world for being unable to scale you, when you tower so high above them?" 

Bull leaves his cock to hang heavily between his legs, but that hand reaches.

Finds something. Something he gave, and which he holds where Dorian can see. The knife, the one that was his soul-weapon, which he gave Dorian to keep him safe. Which he lets glint in the light of the lantern, and brings in to place flat over his lover's lips with _such_ a steady, slow, tender hand that there's no sudden movement to cause an issue. 

"You scream to the world that you're enough. That you're powerful. That you're happy with who you are. You tell them they should love you. And you _rage_ that they don't. But what is it, really, you're hiding from? And what is it you've hidden from yourself for so very, very long?"

The knife stays over his lips, effectively silencing him unless he pulls harshly away from it. 

"Who are you, Dorian Pavus? Why are you so afraid to find out? What have you locked away? And why do you _need_ me to drag your mind back home to yourself?" 

Dorian's mind just hits a wall at that. _Hard_. Craving physical pain is one thing, but this? This… _emotional pushing?_ It's too much. Or, he certainly thinks it is.

He's been asked questions, which means he should answer, but he doesn't _want_ to. Not because he's unwilling to tell Bull, but because he doesn't want _to_ answer, because once he does, the words will exist in the world, and they'll exist in his mind, and they'll be true.

Also there's a knife blade pressed to his lips, which feels very much like an insistence that he _not_ speak. So… what, exactly, is he supposed to do?

He knows the answer. He can see it, like an afterimage from looking at a bright light too long, but every time he even considers trying to see it clearly, it skitters away, which feels like a very good reason not to try looking. To let it fade.

His hands clench and unclench again; the tension visible in every line of his body. And the lantern flame goes _red_ as blood, once more without even a conscious thought.

Bull's hand withdraws from his ass, and then he's kneeling over his calves, groin-to-ass, with one hand dragging Dorian's hair so hard he's sure some will come away when he lets go. The other puts the blade across his throat. He still keeps it flat, because he does _not_ want an injury. And having it there in the first place is more than enough to drive his message home. 

"Tell me. Tell me what they'd offer you. If I drew blood, and demons came crawling through the Veil… tell me what they'd offer you, that you'd want so _much_ you'd fight to say no to." 

It's a testament to just how much Dorian does _not_ want to think about the question that he barely even processes the pain, or the physical threat. Both are there, and lapping at the edges of his awareness like waves on a distant shore, but it's the words that feel like the sharpest knives, and ones that have been driven deep into him.

" _No_ ," he chokes out, vaguely aware that he's never _actually_ said no to Bull before. Not really. Not like this. Not in a be-all-and-end-all refusal. The word falls from his lips of its own accord, it's true, but at least part of him means it. And part… well. Part possibly wants to be made to – ...no, no, **no**.

There is no way Bull will actually risk Dorian's safety. Not truly. Which is why he moves the knife to slice, but it's at the base of his own thumb. A clean, short cut that he does right in front of Dorian's eyes. 

He also knows – from his own research – that demons don't just appear when there's blood. If they did, every fucking battlefield where there'd been a single mage would have been swarmed with them. 

He's also not going to draw Dorian's blood. Because they haven't agreed to that, and it's beyond what he considers acceptable. His own, though, is fair game, and he grips his lover's throat with the injured hand, staunching the flow by pressing into his skin. It's hardly anything, by his standards. It's the shock of it that means more.

"I am not a demon. I am your _amatus_. You make no deal with me, but you **will** tell me." His hand presses further, starting to impede his airway. His other hand flips the knife, and pushes it – handgrip-first – into Dorian's side. The business end pointed away for safety, but he knows Dorian's not fully in control of his senses enough to process that. 

He _really_ isn't. And if Dorian was thinking even a little rationally, he'd know full-well that Bull would never _actually_ stab him. Draw blood, maybe, yes, but not _stab_. Unfortunately, he isn't thinking anything remotely close to 'rationally', and the shock of the sudden movement breaks down one of the mental walls holding his emotions in check. Not all of them. Not the crucial one. But… the dam is cracked now.

" _Fuck_ ," he cries, clearly panicked. "Fuck… I…"

His mind gets as far as processing that he _hasn't_ been stabbed, but the fear has already hit, and it _is_ in his blood, and he can't get it back behind the wall now.

"...I can't," he gasps, because it's not exactly easy to speak with that hand so tightly on his throat. "Don't make me. _Please_."

He knows the words won't be enough, even as he says them. Knows Bull is going to make him answer, one way or another, after however much of a fight Dorian puts up. And _rationally_ , he should just spare himself the pain and engage with it.

But he can't. And it isn't just _'won't'_. There's an element of that, yes, but to simply say 'won't' would imply it was all conscious choice; a measured decision. But this is far from measured. This is _primal_.

"You **can**." Bull's bloodied thumb rubs comforting circles, even as he keeps the steady pressure. Enough to breathe through, but uncomfortable. Enough to trip that switch that knows how urgent air is to survive, and doesn't want to risk that ounce of pressure more. 

Bull drags the hilt up, up, over Dorian's ribs. Then lets it clatter noisily to the floor, where it can't hurt either of them accidentally. He knows he has to control the situation precisely, especially considering Dorian's talents (and… trauma). His arm wraps around his mage's waist, pulling him backwards against his crotch. Threatening, promising… somewhere between the two. "You can, because you are _strong_. You are stronger than you know. And you are _no longer alone_. You will never be alone again. _We are one_ , kadan. Let yourself see what I see." 

He kisses softly, just at the base of Dorian's thumb, where moments ago on his own he sliced through skin. 

Oh no. _No_. Not that. Violence and threat, fine, but not _gentleness_. That kicks Dorian over an edge of a very different kind, and there are tears in his eyes now, but he's still fighting all of it – except the physical side – with every ounce of his strength.

" _No_ ," he says again, but it's soft and plaintive and desperate, rather than any kind of defiant refusal. "I can't. I… _can't_. So… so you'll just have to hurt me instead, and let that be en–"

... _kaffas_. _**Kaffas**_. He almost said it. The word was there. It's trying to get out of him, and he has to stop it, but it's _there now_ , and it's like that awful moment when you're somewhere dark and quiet and you realise you're not alone.

The hand around his waist moves, the back very gently stroking at Dorian's cock. Bull's not sure if the arousal is gone or not, but the emotional response will still be there. The one on his throat lessens, and only holds on to support and caress. 

"What did I tell you, kadan, when we met and you wondered why I spoke to you as I did? Or when you asked me to hurt Harland, to make him talk?"

He's softer, now, even as he uses his bulk and strength to envelop him. There's threat, but it's only implicit. His voice is so very, very calm. "What did I tell you about violence, and the truth?" 

"...t-that it never truly works," Dorian manages, a shiver running through his whole body in response to the touch. "That you have to be smarter. So… so now you're trying to what? _Seduce_ me into..? Into..?"

A deep, shuddering breath, and he closes his eyes, if only to hide from himself just how bleary they are now. The motion sends a tear trailing down his cheek, and he feels so very _weak_ for how easily he's caving in under the other man's will.

_Love_ means having someone you can't resist. In every sense of the word.

"Into what, kadan?" Bull releases his throat, a bent finger catching the tear and sweeping it up. "Into being yourself at long last? Into facing those voices you are afraid to hear? Into _letting_ yourself _be_?"

He kisses along the curve of an ear, and rolls his hips oh so slowly against him. "Anyone can hurt you until you scream. Anyone. But only those you care about, who care about _you_ can touch that last part. Kadan… _Ashkaari_. Seeker of truths. Asker of questions. Enlightened one. Let yourself acknowledge what you know to be true. You are only fighting **yourself**." 

Dorian is fighting. Oh yes. Fighting and fighting, just to keep the words inside now. Words he doesn't want to say, but which have broken free and are flying around inside his head like rogue lightning; stinging every time they bounce off him.

"...i-into saying it… you already _know_... why do you insist on hearing it out loud?"

But Dorian knows the answer to this. Even as he says it, he's aware of how pointless the words sound. How… _pathetic_ , and… _kaffas_ , he's just going to have to say it, isn't he?

He presses his eyes tighter shut, and tries for one last moment to will himself into a frenzy of fresh strength to resist. It doesn't work. It was never going to. He knows this. He _knew_ this.

"I… if a demon were to step forth from the Fade right now… it would offer me power, and it would offer me pleasure and… and in the past, that alone might have been enough to tempt me. That's why I can't… why I _have to_ sate the needs myself, so they aren't too great a weakness. But now I have you… that temptation would be so much less, because _I have you_ , and so they'd offer… they'd offer the one thing I don't know if I _could_ refuse…"

A pause. A breath. Saying the words will make them more real. But he has to.

"...they'd offer to make me _enough_ ," he whispers. "Enough for my father… my mother… Gereon… Tevinter…" a pause, because every word stings like a slap to the face, "... _you_."

And there. It's said. It's done. He's absolutely silent for a few seconds, and then he drops his head and _cries_ , as the walls come tumbling down.

Bull rips the handkerchief around Dorian's hands free, and immediately bundles him in the tightest, tightest hug he can. He pushes Dorian flat into the bed beneath him, and squeezes him _so very tightly_. "No, no, kadan… you are **wrong**. And if those others don't see it, it is their blindness, not your _lack_. Kadan… my heart, my soul… **you are already so much more than enough**. My mad, mad little Vint mage… you are _so_ much more than enough… they are not who you need to satisfy…"

Fierce grey arms and kisses to his cheeks as Bull holds him through the wrack. "My ridiculous, genius, idiotic heart… it's _you_ who you need to convince. I already know you're worth more than I ever deserved. More than your family, more than Tevinter, more than all of fucking _Thedas_. You. Are. **Loved**." 

Dorian knows he's loved. He does. He knows he never was before he met Bull, but he doesn't think for one second that the other man is lying to him about how he feels, or what he wants.

But… Dorian has never, in his whole life, been able to make _anything_ good last. Even his relationship with Gereon, who was such a good mentor that he got Dorian stable enough to hold down a position in the Minrathous Circle, fell apart in the end, and Dorian couldn't stop it. The same way he couldn't stop his father's disapproval, or his mother's disinterest, or his whole nation's descent into madness.

Because he's not enough. Not strong enough, not good enough, not smart enough.

But what really, _really_ scares him is his relationship with Bull, which is so completely wonderful and perfect and _right_ , and like nothing he ever expected to find, and no matter what he does, the thought is still there, at the back of his mind, over and over and over:

He won't be enough for this, either. And he'll mess it up, and the resulting collapse will almost certainly kill him.

"...I know," he whispers, brokenly. "But I _destroy_ every good thing that happens to me… and what if I… what if that includes _us_..?"

Bull rolls onto his side, and paws firmly at him until Dorian turns to face him. Or at least, face towards him. The hand under his jaw is infinitely loving, and the leg that bends up and over his to pull him closer is firm, but not harsh.

"It won't. It won't. Because I won't let you. You can shout at me. You can push me away. You can tell me you don't love me. That you hate me. That you wish I was dead. You can drink, and flirt, and run away. You can say stupid things. You could even insult my kids – though I'd rather you went after me, and not them…"

He pulls him closer, brushing noses together, and his own voice is showing the pain, now, too. "You can do all of that, if you need to, to see that you won't break us. And I will follow you. I will chase you. I will walk down the throat of a dragon after you, to pull you back out by your bootlaces. But I will _not_ let you go. I will **not** let you destroy yourself, or us. I swore myself to you, and that means _all_ of me. And if anything happens – _anything_ – we **work it out**. No matter how shitty, or awful, or terrible you think it is. Because. I. Fucking. **Love**. You. And I will not ever, ever stop. You are stuck with me, kadan. And if you ever doubt that, you'll have to kill me to stop me loving you. And then I'll only not because… well. I'll be dead. And no one – not the Qun, not your father, not the whole of Tevinter – will _change that_."

Dorian has stopped sobbing, but his eyes are still wet with tears, and he's shaking all over. And he wants – so, so badly – to just curl up in the other man's arms until the emotions calm and the pain goes away and he can think in straight lines again.

But he can't. The self-destructive side of him is awake and on fire and this would be _so_ much easier if Bull just… just got _mad_ with him or something. Something. _Anything_ to ground the feelings in his head, to make them make sense, to… to make them _real_ so he has something to push against. Even if it's just to smack them with a stick until they crawl back into whatever dark, mental place they reside in.

"...why do you have to be so _decent and reasonable?_ " he manages, still not meeting the other man's eye. "Can't you just… just… I don't know. Something _else?_ "

"No." It's kind, but firm. A hand behind his neck. No threat, only affection. "No. I won't be like those other people. I won't give up on you. And I won't let _you_ give up on you, either. I won't betray you. I won't let you down. Hey… I won't be perfect, but I will always _try_ to do the right thing for you. Even if it's make you face the things you don't want to – but need to."

A delicate kiss to his forehead. "You can get angry, if you want to. You can lash out with your magic, but you take it out on _me_. You don't punish yourself. Not your body, or your mind. If you need it to hurt to get through things… then we do it safely. And after, you know you're safe. Loved. **Wanted**. I am _not_ letting you run away from this, even if you do hate me for a while. I am not trying to change you… I am trying to help you accept _yourself_. All of you. Even the bits you know are… well. Shitty." 

He smiles, oh so fondly. "Kadan… ask yourself… why do you want me to hurt you? Why is it that you crave, whenever I try to love you softly? Why is gentleness a violence, and violence a mercy?"

Dorian stares at him now, taken aback by the question. "What's wrong with me liking it rough?" he counters, caught between fierce and terrified. "You're actually strong enough to stand against me, even if I use magic. Why shouldn't I be allowed to enjoy that, if you like doing it too?"

He's aware this isn't actually what Bull is asking, but he doesn't want to answer _that_ question, and he's already said far more than he can accept.

"Why are you defending it, if you don't think something is wrong?" Bull is too fast for that trick. "I asked a question, with no value judgement. And you immediately assumed I thought one option was better, or right." 

He shifts, and has Dorian on his back. Hands either side of his head, straddled again. "We can do rough. All I asked was _why_." 

"Because I like it, and you're good at it." There. That's true. Dorian knows it's true.

...but it isn't _the truth_ , though, is it? He's doing what Bull does; sins of omission. Except Bull is very good at _that_ , too, and Dorian really isn't. Or, not now, at least.

He glares up at the other man. He has a deep, burning desire to let go with his magic, but… but he doesn't. Possibly he knows he shouldn't.

"Because…" Dorian starts off again, sharply, but the words – and the emotion – die on his lips, and in the silence that ensues, the truth finally starts to slip free instead.

"...because violence drowns everything else out," he continues, far more softly. "Because when you take control, or hurt me, or pull me into a fantasy that lets me indulge even more… I can't hear the voices telling me I'm not enough. Telling me I'll fuck it up. All I can hear is you, telling me you want me no matter what, and for a little while I can even believe it. And the sheer _relief_ is… is… everything."

He turns his head to the side and closes his eyes, so he doesn't have to watch Bull's reaction. He can't.

"I can do that, if it's what you need," Bull replies, still holding him down. "I can do that, whenever you need. And I don't mind. I want you _happy_." He says that part with a fierce, fierce certainty. 

"But I also want you to know… that one day? I'd like to help you make the voices _go_. Even if it's just for a little while. Not be drowned out, but silenced." He pushes his nose into his cheek, nuzzling. "I'd like you to feel you can tell them to fuck right off. I'd like you to _know_ that what you _hope_ is true."

His hands grip tighter. "You've been hurt. You've been hurt so very, very badly. I'm not going to walk in and cast some magic and it goes away. It might never go completely away. But I can help you find that silence… kadan… will you do something for me?"

Dorian still can't look up at him, but the fact Bull isn't yelling or throwing him out does help soothe the sharpest hurt, and he seems to calm a little. He's certainly not completely calm, oh no, but he's noticeably calm _er_.

He can't bring himself to speak either, though, so he just nods; enough that it's a clear response, and obviously not a reluctant one.

Bull's hands slip from wrists to lacing fingers together, holding just as tight. "I want you to tell those voices just that, right now: That you're not going to listen to them tonight. That they're wrong. That they can go the fuck themselves. I want you to tell them all the things you wish you could. As loud, and rude, and angry, and violent as you want. As loud and rude and angry as they are to you, I want you to be _worse_. I want you to tell them that all those good things you want, and they say you can't have? You **can** and you **do**. Can you do that for me?"

Dorian is not sure what he thinks of this. It's not as though there are _actual_ voices in his head, or entities of some kind that he can speak to, or scare off, or reason with. It's just… him. His thoughts. Conscious or unconscious.

But… he doesn't quite dare refuse, so he nods again – still not looking up – and tries to work out how you even _start_ talking to the non-existent voices in your head that are really just you and your messed-up self.

Maybe he'd better start. He clears his throat, if only to make it clear he's not addressing Bull when he speaks. "Look… just… just fuck off, all right? All you do is hold me back and… and even if you _were_ right once, you _aren't_ anymore… and this insanely wonderful man still loves me even when _you_ make me act like an ass so you can just fucking well accept that you've outstayed your welcome worse than a _bad_ houseguest whom your great-aunt _insisted_ you invite even though **no one fucking likes you**. And… _vishante kaffas_ , I am _done_ letting you pour poison in my ear, I am the son of a noble house and _you_ don't even fucking _exist_ so _go die in an Orlesian pit, **you miserable fuck**_..!"

He was soft and quiet at the start of this, not even looking up, but by the end he's howling the words to the ceiling, eyes wide and wild and possibly _glowing_ a little, and at the final words there's a sudden shockwave of magic from both hands that makes the air flood with static… and makes the long-since-forgotten lantern at the bedside flare bright purple and then explode.

And… OK, fuck, that was like snapping open a bottle of sparkling wine and releasing all the pressure at once. He drops back as the static fades, and the shards of glass from the lantern scatter to the floor; strangely breathless and not at all sure what he should do or say now.

Bull grabs his face in both hands, all pretence at calm gone. He holds him, and kisses him like both their lives depend on it. Kisses and kisses and slides his barely-healed palm over his cheek. Touches his brow, touches his hair, his ears, his neck… and when he's finally forced to grab air, he's _growling_ in appreciation.

" _There's my kadan_." He shoves his shoulders down, and starts to swirl his hips in sure, slow circles against the man below him. "When I fuck you _hard_ , it's not because I want to **hurt** you. It's because I want you so badly my horns burn. It's because I know you're strong enough to take it. I'm not _punishing_ you. I'm _celebrating_ finding my mate, my equal, my **kadan**." 

His thumb smears firmly over Dorian's kiss-damp lips, tugging it from his teeth, and purring in appreciation. "I do love you. Even when you're an ass. Because I love _you_. And if you need me to hold you down and make you remember: I will. And if you need me to take your anger, or your fear: _I will_. But I will never, **ever** stop loving you. And I will _never let you forget it_. If I do? You have my permission to do _anything you need_." 

Dorian has tears in his eyes again, and he bites his lip when he nods, still looking up. He's shaking and he's afraid but it's _good_ fear now, because… because he's worth all those lovely words and because he believes them when he hears them, and he doesn't know how he got so lucky but… but he _did_.

"I love you," he whispers, soft but utterly heartfelt. "And I'm never letting you go. You're… _everything_. **Everything** , amatus."

"Will you let me show you?" His head tilts, and his own eye is… not exactly dry. Not with how _much_ he's feeling. Bull needs this, just as much as Dorian does. Needs to know he can do things that are _good_. That he's not just a cruel, savage, heartless monster, or cog in the machine.

Dorian… Dorian means he's real. He's a person. And he can _be_ loved, as well as love. It's there, all over his face. The hunger, as much as his own fear. Fear, because it _matters so very much_ that he gets this right. "Will you let me show you how **fucking much** I love you? Not fast. Not rough. Not to start with… I want you to fall to pieces in my arms… _then_ I want to give us the storm we both need. I want both, kadan. I _need_ both. I **need _you_**."

"Yes," Dorian says, nodding. "Yes. _Please_. Just… tell me what you want me to do. Or need me to do. Or not do. Or… _anything_ , I just… want to make this right for you."

He does. Badly. He can't immediately remove the fear that he _won't_ , but he can try to push past it.

"You just need to be you." It's simple, Bull thinks, as he moves to kneel between his legs. Then slips his arms under, and lifts Dorian to lie against his chest. "That's all. Just be you. _All_ of you. All of you that you can bear to be. I'll take every. Single. Scrap."

Bull settles Dorian on his lap as he sits on his haunches, supporting him between arms and torso. His lips go to his shoulder, his neck, his ear. "Take what you need. _Ask. Beg. Take._ All of it. Just let me love you. Just let me love you, and I have everything I need." 

Dorian wraps his arms around Bull's shoulders and curls in close, face buried in his neck. He's still shivering, and he feels genuinely _cold_ now, but everywhere the other man touches seems to blossom with warmth to chase it back.

"I… need to make you happy," he says. "So… so if you want to do this slowly, then please… _please_... do. I won't try to change the pace, or… or push for something different. I promise."

"I want to _start_ slowly. I want you to let me show you how it can feel. I want you to let me show you that, first." Bull moves his hands to prise him wider, to let his own cock slip into the gap. "I want that. How we finish… it'll be what we both want, kadan. I want us _both_ happy."

It is all too easy to guide his betrothed down, down over the head of his cock. Down, sinking lower until he's buried to the balls. But Bull doesn't move his hips, then. Instead, he runs his hands over everywhere they can touch, and kisses between soft murmurs. 

"So beautiful. Not just your body, but _you_. So fierce. So brave. So smart. So fucking **strong**." The praise pours out, without a single hesitation or check. It's just the truth that he doesn't hold back. "I'd never have dreamed someone like you could love me. I don't even know I'd have survived what you've been through. You are so _fierce_ , so… so… _you_ to keep fighting… Kadan, if I could have been flogged for a month to spare you an hour of your pains, it would have been worth it. If only you could see yourself as I do… I'd give you my last eye to let it happen."

Dorian loves praise. Absolutely fucking _loves_ it. But this… this is so raw and honest and _real_ that it almost hurts to listen to, and all he can do is hold on, tighter and tighter, fighting not to break down again.

"You do yourself a disservice," he says, softly. "I… I won't tell you not to think I'm special, because it's so lovely to hear, but you… you're one of a kind. Strong and fierce and dangerous… but also smart and brilliant and _caring_ , and do you even know how rare it is to get all of that at once? I fell for you when you still held the keys to my chains, and the truth is… you still do. And I've never been _freer_."

"I wouldn't have been anything, if I hadn't met you. A dead Qunari is nothing." It's the simple truth, after all. "I'd given up. I'd given up, and you never did. And I won't let you forget that… not ever. I didn't fit in, and I _tried_. I was going to break, because I couldn't bend any more… and you broke **me** free…"

Bull doesn't like to admit it, but he does envy Dorian that sense of purpose, even if it's cost him dearly. Bull had been splitting apart at the seams under the effort to fit in, and he doesn't like to think about how bad it had been. 

Except in the terms that it _isn't_ , not any more. 

"You make me better. You make me stronger. You make me _me_." 

One hand rests in the small of Dorian's back, holding him steady under the slowest rolls of his knees and waist. Bull's other hand traces path after path over his shoulders, his back, his side. He's hooked the mage between his neck and cheek, letting the swaying of their bodies coil the tension higher. "I fucking **love** you. And I'm going to – going to – if I can do half of what you did for me, I--"

His weight moves front and back, over the centre of gravity, the kind of aching pressure of their coupling nothing like enough to slake his thirst. But he needs this, first. He needs Dorian to weather the fierceness of his affection, before the real fierceness begins. 

Dorian can't let go; holding onto Bull like he really _is_ weathering a storm, and if he breaks contact for even a second, he'll be lost to it.

"I just helped you get back to _you_ ," he says, and why he can't take a compliment _now_ , when normally he craves them, he's not sure. "But I swear I'll do everything in my power to keep you there. To keep you _here_. If anyone touched you… I'd rip the world apart to save you."

He wouldn't hurt innocents. But anyone standing deliberately in his path would be fair game.

"I know. I know." It touches him more than Bull has words for. He knows just how powerful Dorian truly is, as well, which means… His fingers tighten, and he rocks that little bit harder. He can't help finding how incredible the man is to be so very, very arousing. "You were meant to be with me, and me with you. And – and we both have to be ready to accept that."

"I know," Dorian echoes. He does, when he lets go enough to think about it logically. He just isn't usually so good at doing that when his mind is screaming for other things. But right now… he gets it.

Bull's touches run over every part he can conceivably touch, and he pushes up fully onto his knees so he can start to rock with more force. He presses right at the man's tailbone, getting that last little bit deeper inside. It makes his legs shake and his toes curl, his breath shattering over his tongue. 

"I want… so badly to hurt you… but only to break your fused bones. Undo where you healed wrong… set you back together… want to pull out the splinters and shrapnel… want to lick out the taint they left in you… I _understand_. I understand. I know how… how addictive pain can be… but I want it to not hurt after. I want… I want that relief to _last_. I want you to choose the pain because you want it, not because you _need_ it…" 

Dorian gives a soft whimper as the coupling gets a little firmer, still clinging onto Bull as though his life depends on it; wanting to beg him for more but at the same time enjoying just taking whatever the other man wants to give. Because… it's precious. All of it is. All of _him_ is.

"...you make it stop hurting," he whispers. "I feel… different… when you hold me. Like I'm not alone… not just physically but emotionally too. I couldn't do this without you."

"You never _have_ to." Bull grabs the chain around Dorian's neck, scruffing it up and pulling until the amulet and key are pressed into the lightly blood-smeared front of his throat. "You don't. None of it. Not one bit of it. You don't need to hide anything from me… unless you need me to _pull_ it out…"

Because not everything can simply be said, and he knows that. Even if you want to say it, it's not always a case of it finding the way out past your teeth. 

"If it takes until we're old and broken men, all the battle gone… holding hands and watching the tides come and go… if it takes until then, I will be here to hear all of your hurts and joys. I love you. I love _fucking_ you. But I love every damn other thing, too."

Bull moves them, pushing Dorian onto his back, but this time it isn't a slam. It's an easing down, as they move to use the bed rather than abuse it. He nips at his jaw, purring with that possessive, protective note. "Tell me where you need me to touch you. You say where. I say how hard." 

That makes Dorian's head spin with just how damnably _hot_ it is, and for a moment he has to concentrate on breathing; keeping his hands on the other man but looser now, so that Bull can stare down at him.

"Everywhere," he says, softly; the word making his voice crack. "I need you all over me. As hard or as gentle as you want. Need your palms on my chest, on my shoulders, on my arms. Over my heart. Need to wrap my legs around you whilst your fingers run down my sides and over my ass. N-need your hand on my cock, and your lips on my neck, and… _amatus, please_..."

The last two words are breathed like a prayer; not him trying to push or incite, but just show the strength of what he's feeling. Of what he needs, and what he _wants_.

"I _know_." It's there, echoed in the same raw, bloody, battle-worn but hungry tone. Bull feels like he's punched a dragon out of the sky, and wrapped his arms around the thrashing head and roaring jaws. Like he's been riding out the hardest fight of his life, and it's just to make his kadan feel… _right_. 

The heels of his hands push under Dorian's collarbones, only so he can arch up to watch his face. Slow, sinuous ripples against him, and then he's moving to touch, to stroke, to grip and hold. He wants every inch to smell of him, to tingle after he's claimed it. "Every bit of you. Every bit. Even the bits you don't think I want… _I do_. I do. I **do**." 

The two nails of his left hand run parallel marks down either side of the swell in Dorian's throat. Stinging, but not more. A pinch at his hip-bone. A finger under a rib, bent and following the way they expand and contract as he breathes. His hips go faster, then slower, making sure he doesn't take them too close, too soon. Cooling off whenever the thunder gets too much, trying to show him it isn't all immediate explosions. That the little ones, the tiny sparks… they add up to just as much, if not more. 

"You deserve to be loved. Not just fucked blind. You deserve to wake up to my mouth on your thighs and your hands on my horns. You deserve to be kissed for hours with no touch to your cock at all. You were _never_ going to fall for mere pleasure, kadan. You just filled the void because it hurt too much to be so alone." He takes his dick into his hand, but the strokes are light and loving, not seeking any conclusion. "You love too deeply, too brightly, to be satisfied with any less. Someone as _fierce_ as you has to love with all the power of the sky on fire. With all the wildness in you. With _all_ of you." 

Dorian feels like he's going to fall apart, not physically but emotionally, and there are tears in his eyes again at the other man's words. How. How does he see so much, so easily? How does he see things that even Dorian himself can't see, and not just the things he _chooses_ not to see?

And he's surrendering in a very different way now. Not to a superior force, or to the victor in a struggle, but to the knowledge that the other man means what he's saying. That it's not a trick, or a lie, or even a mistake. That he really… _thinks_ these things. Believes them. That… maybe they're _true_. Not subjectively, but _objectively_.

"Please," he whispers, though he's not certain what he's asking for, or why. Just that the need is there, and he has no other way to ground it. "Please… I…"

I don't know what to do. I'm adrift in the dark, and you're the light guiding me back.

"Don't hold back. If you want to break in the waves, break. If you want to draw them out forever, do. If you need to use your magic just to breathe through…" Bull holds his hips, thumbs pushing, fingers lifting, and the rolling is still so slow, but deep. Not fierce, but intense. His eye drills through him, pushing him into the bed with just his gaze, his shoulders taut with the effort of holding back. It's clear his blood is urging more, but the restraint isn't bad. He's drawing it out to last. To meet the need that goes beyond a physical relief. Bull's trying to ride the emotions, not the lust. It's a fresh torture, from the lines around his mouth and jaw. The tightness in his shoulders as he rolls into him. 

But it's not enough, not nearly enough. And the hands move from his waist to his lower back, and Bull tugs him up again. Walks on his knees up the bed, so he can grab at the headboard for leverage. No. Not right. Palm flat on the wall, using it because it's the most solid thing around to push back against. Coils his hand around Dorian's cock, and strokes. "...I'm… I'm c-close, kadan… I – I don't know how long… _vashedan_... tell me… tell me it's enough… tell me… By your damn Maker I _love_ you! Please!" 

Dorian holds on again, face back in the curve of Bull's neck and trying to arch into the movements now. Then the other man speaks, and the words go right through him, and suddenly the dam breaks again, making him cling on even harder.

"It's enough, of course it's enough, of course _you're_ enough… amatus, _please_ , take what you need, _give_ what you need, I'm here, and I love you, and I'll give you _anything_... please, please…"

He's been trying not to beg for more, but he _does_ need it, and that much is clear in the way he can't stop pushing into the contact, rolling into the movement; gasping as every last shunt sends shockwaves through him.

"Then _do_ it!" Bull's voice is ragged from the frayed self-control, and he's using feet, knees, hands… anything to get the power behind the coupling that he needs to. Not because he needs that much to get off, but because the _feelings_ are there, in the clawing, in the slamming, in the mouth that suddenly bites down on Dorian's neck in a furious, claiming close of his teeth. He's stroking as roughly as he dares – and with what little coordination he still has. It's instinct, not thought, as the madness of release loosens whatever control he had tenuously held on to. 

It's still not right, and he drags his hips back down the bed so he can hold each bedpost and _ride_ out the fire set in his spine, head back and calling wordlessly. 

Dorian has been pulled in so many directions – physically and emotionally – that he no longer knows where he's going, or where he _should_ be going, and he doesn't even know what _he_ wants, more than the obvious.

And then… that bite, which makes him cry out in pain, before everything in his head just _sharpens_ for one glorious, agonising second.

It's enough.

He slaps both hands against Bull's back and _slams_ outwards with as much magic as he can summon at very short notice, trying to kick them both into sharp release whilst – he hopes – proving the point. Desperately, desperately praying it's the right one.

Bull _screams_ , louder even than Dorian is prone to, shattering the bedposts and then grabbing Dorian instead. He's crushingly, bruisingly holding onto his hips as his climax has his whole body in rictus. It's pleasure – insanely, insanely fierce – and it's pain, and it's – it's – _feelings_ , and it's some ungodly collection of all of them and he's not even sure what he's saying, or if it's words, or… what. There's just no polite, decorous, or controlled way to coast or ride out that much stimulus at once, or any way to express it other than letting his hands and cock and voice do what they need to. 

Which is to say: Dorian Pavus. 

By the time he remembers the world is a thing that exists, Bull is in some broken, slack-limbed mess of quivering and ruined whimpering, with the occasional attempt to kiss and caress but mostly just… _shake_.

_Fuck_ , but that's what Dorian needs right now. He's not at all sure it was what he was supposed to do, but if that's the case… he'll just own his mistake. Because he doesn't regret it.

The force of Bull's climax alone would have been enough to tip him over the edge, but the fact he included _himself_ in that not-so-little magical outburst means he howls in bliss, falling apart so fast and so hard that it shatters his lingering grip on the world and sends his mind hurtling out to… to _something_ beyond. He can't let go of the other man, even when the waves of pleasure fade back and leave him gasping, and when it all finally dies away, he feels locked in place.

And the words are gone. Which is probably a good thing. He manages a soft little murmur and then goes back to hiding in Bull's neck, trying to remember which way is 'up'.

The bit of Bull's brain that still knows what things are (sort of) knows he's not supposed to _hurt_ -hurt the man he's balls-deep inside, whose hips he's nearly crushing. That he's supposed to protect him, and only good-hurt him. Which is why he stops holding on so hard that it might shatter his pelvis, and only hold him with just enough force to control the way his whole upper body is shaking. 

Because it is. From the force of the release, the after-effects of the overpowering magic (and is he supposed to enjoy that quite as much as he does? Who cares..?), and the crushingly powerful emotional response which it isn't right that anyone should have to try to live with that. Because how can you? How can you live with feeling that fucking much?

Not that he wants it to stop.

Bull heaves through air, trying to use it to find whatever the hell is left of his mind, and why is it all sort of… ticking? It's not like his heart-beat, but it kind of is, and it's thrum-tick-shake-click… and breathe-breathe-breathe and does Dorian know? Does he? Can he? Can he really know what he means to him? Bull squeezes him, and fumbles through all the languages that flow around in his head – swimming like fishes and pulled on different currents – trying to find the thread that gets closest to the whirling vortex somewhere out in the ocean that threatens to gulp down every thought he's ever had. 

" _Kadan_ ," is all he can manage, at first. He hopes it conveys what he needs it to. He hopes he's said what needs saying. 

Dorian _shivers_ from head to toe, still holding on tightly. He's a little more confident now that he hasn't done something terribly wrong, but his mind is still so far out in the black that the physical and the emotional haven't quite joined up yet.

"...amatus…" he murmurs, though it takes a great deal of effort to form the word. "I… you…"

He can't. He can't. He's shaking from the feeling of it all, and he _can't_... and… and… something in him just snaps, and suddenly he's trying to kiss the other man as hard as he can, everywhere he can reach. His lips, his jaw, his neck; anywhere and everywhere, not to provoke anything but because it's the only way he can get the emotions _out_ and into the world where they belong.

Bull manages a tiny, fractured and adoring laugh. "Th-that… ahh… thhhhhhhat was… gnnnhhhh… _yeah_ just… **more, please**?" He sounds as delighted as it's possible for one man to sound, sort of… bubbling in the chest and… _pleased_ and relieved and the flurry of affection has him trying to keep up. Trying to cuddle, and stroke, and hold, and kiss, and use what parts of his body he still controls to return the affection.

"That's what I – what I wanted to – to sssshoooWWWWW OH yessss… show you… let you… kkkknow…" 

It takes a lot to take the words from the Iron Bull, but the slurring, mumbling mess that he is right now shows he's there. "...so good… _fucking love you_... don't… don't you ever dare s-sssstop… kadan… kadan! I---"

Bull actually _whines_ , a sound that shouldn't really come from such a large man, but somehow manages to, all the same. "Kadan, you'll kill me!"

With a strength that he simply should not have, at least without magical augmentation – which this time he isn't using – Dorian bowls them both backwards on the bed, so he's on top of Bull, gasping at the way it feels when they're still coupled as they are and rolling his hips into it a little, just for the renewed aftershocks.

And he can't stop. Can't stop kissing the other man. Can't keep his hands off him. He's not pushing for anything, not at all, he just needs needs needs _needs_ to show his gratitude and his love and this is the only way he can think to do it that might possibly be close to how _big_ the feelings are.

"I love you," he gasps, in between kisses. " _I love you so fucking much_."

Bull isn't sure how Dorian can possibly still be going, not after the way he just blew his damn brains out through his dick. He's barely gotten his breathing back to normal, his heart is still racing, and now he has a frantic, feverish armful of amorous and loving _insanity_ , and it's almost (but not quite) terrifying. 

He keens at the overly-stimulated touching, one leg thumping the bed as Dorian moves on him, a dry, but too-sweet echo making his hips bounce up into the contact. He's fighting to keep up under the onslaught, then pushing his own face into Dorian's neck to hide from the unseemly noises he's making. He's just--

"Kadan… kadan I – I l-lllove you too but unless you have a spell, I'm --- GNAAAAHHHH, DORIAN, PLEASE! Do it again… do it again, I'm fucking -- BEGGING YOU. You'll kill me but **ohfuckyesit'llbeworthitohfuckfuckFUCK**." He can't quite, not without help, and he knows he _needs_ it now and the fact that he can't without Dorian's help… he's… helpless. And he doesn't care one bit. 

_That_ tone goes through Dorian like nothing else, and he pushes up just enough to grab the other man's face in both hands, kissing him fiercely, over and over. Wanting to draw this out, suddenly, just to make Bull keep _needing_ him like this. Needing something only Dorian can give him.

It isn't out of any sense of power. Well. Not really. It's more for the soul-smashing awareness of just how much the other man _does_ need him, and how he's giving Bull something that he's never had, even with his obviously extensive sexual history.

_Never done it with a mage before_. That's what Bull told him, the very first time. Which means anything Dorian does involving magic is something that only he will ever do to the man. And OK, yes, Dorian _has_ tried these things on other men before, but never anyone who could take so damn _much_. So it's special. It's _them_.

" _I love you_ ," he gasps, against Bull's lips. "It's all right, amatus. It's all right."

He slides his hands down to Bull's chest, and presses their foreheads together, and then _flares_ out with his magic again – solely into Bull this time, because he's not sure he himself could take it, and he needs to keep control if he's doing this – with the clear aim of kicking the other man over the edge. _Again_.

It shouldn't be possible, but somehow it is. Bull doesn't know how his body and mind are feeling what they are, outside of it being 'magic'. He shouldn't. It shouldn't happen. His heart feels like it's exploding, his mind can barely recognise he's still here, and there's _sososososo much_ right there, right – right – 

He bucks, and yelps, and _bellows_ out something between jubilant victory and too-wrought, terrified adulation. It's too much. Too big. He's touching things that no one – human, dwarf, elf or Qunari – should be able to. It's things he's absolutely not capable of doing, or resisting, and he's wholly, utterly in Dorian's hands. At his mercy. In his control. 

Bull grabs at Dorian's hips, the climax giving little more than a few, nearly-dry spurts but jangling like electrical sparks through his nerves, over his bones, into his marrow and beyond. 

Then he's trying to pull back, because it's too, too, _too_ much. Too raw and painful and dangerous and he's helpless. This wasn't what he thought they'd do, and he's never even considered it was possible. Then… then he forces his eye to lock onto Dorian's face. It's not – it's not…

"Kadan," he begs. "No… no… I – I – _you_. Please… not… nnnnot without you… _please_!"

Dorian may not have kicked himself over the edge as well, but it still feels _phenomenal_ when Bull loses control again. He rides it out as best he can, echoed pleasure running through him as well, and then tries to hold on and…

...and Bull is still full of what looks like _panic_ , and Dorian suddenly worries he's gone too far, or totally misread what the other man wanted, or… shit, shit, shit…

" _Amatus_ ," he says, hands on Bull's face again, his own heart racing, "it's all right, I promise, I promise, just breathe, I'm here, I'm here."

"No! Kadan… please… I need _you_ to… not just me… please! I – **please**!" Bull's clutching at him, shaking and it definitely felt good, but he – he can't help but need it to be them _both_. It isn't – it isn't right if he's taking, but not giving. He needs them both to enjoy it, or it's…

"Please, I… it's… it's not right if you don't… I n-nnnneed it to… it has to… it's… please?" 

How can he explain it? It's this aching, hungry, dark little cavern and it has to be _right_. He needs it to be. He brings his hands up to Dorian's face, nuzzling with strung-out affection. "I love you. I need _you_." Not magic. Not amazing orgasms. It's… it's him. "Please don't leave me alone. _Please_." 

Given that Dorian was already one ahead when they started all this, it hadn't even dawned on him that Bull might feel anything was out of balance. So he can't keep a flicker of surprise from his face at the other man's words, though he doesn't comment.

"All right," he says, softly, soothingly. "All right, amatus. Then make me. I made you, after all. Do it fast, do it slow, whatever you choose. Just know that I love you no matter what."

"It… I…" He's overly-emotional, and maybe he shouldn't be crying, but he is. It's too… too big. Bull puts a shaky hand on Dorian's not-quite-hard cock, and tries to meet his gaze. "N-not… use you… it's… I'm…"

What's even happened? Bull is never like this, and he's frightened by how it's affected him. It's outside of his sphere of influence, what is 'known', and he's struggling with the way he's buffeted by it. 

_He's_ the one who pushes people. He's the one who goes the step further. And now he's a wreck, and he feels guilty because it should be _both_ of them. Not just… 

"You don't understand," he complains, softly. "You weren't – it was--" He's not trying to complain. Or maybe he is. There's a sudden flicker of anger, because he's forgotten how to _school_ things to be what he wants seen. "You're not supposed to do that and it just be me. I – you!" Fuck. FUCK. He grips him hard, furious all of a sudden. " _Don't make me feel like that without you_! Because – because **I can't do that**!"

And it isn't fair for him to get something Dorian then can't. Which makes perfect sense to him, and how the fuck does he handle how furious he suddenly feels? Furious and impotent and distraught that he can't compare. Can't keep up. Can't… give as good as he's given. 

"Why not?" Dorian asks him, weirdly calm. He's conscious that he should be panicking because Bull is panicking, and because he's caused it, but perhaps the heightened emotion of before has levelled him off. It probably won't last, because… because of who he _is_ , let's be honest, but that doesn't mean he can't take advantage of it for however many moments it endures.

"I mean it," he goes on, not angry, not judging, just… sure. "Why not? The things you do for me, to me, with me… they're beyond my wildest dreams. They _were_ my wildest dreams, until you came along and _surpassed_ them all. Why can't I do the same in return? Why can't I be the one to give something to you? I'm not asking for control. I'd never do it without being sure you wanted me to, and I'd never do it unless _I_ wanted to as well. So… let me, amatus. Please."

"B-because I – I _can't_ do that!" If he knew what he was doing, Bull would be horrified. He never loses control of himself to this extent, he just doesn't. He can't, because he has to keep the lid on. It's how he keeps everyone safe. It's how he's never surprised. It's… just what he does.

"I can't do that, and – and I'm supposed to… I'm supposed to make _you_ feel good." And now he's clawing at the sheets in his frustration, because it's _his job_. He's supposed to take care of _Dorian_ , not the other way around. "I – I--"

His jaw snaps, wordlessly, and he wants to burrow down into the bed and never be seen again.

Even if a part of him says, very quietly, that he's being utterly pathetic, and just as ridiculous as Dorian was. "...I'm… supposed to do that for _you_. I don't – I don't know how to… I don't know how to _not_. It's. It's not control… it's…" It's something different. He can't quite put it into words, because he hasn't worked out what it is, and realising there's a huge gap in his self-awareness has him harrowed. " _Please_. It… I don't feel… right if you… it…" Fuck. Dorian said it's okay, but he can't make that feel like it should in his head, and now he's trying to unpick a lot, very fast, without breaking in two. "...it… feels better when I know… you're as happy. I… it… _matters_. I'm sorry. It. It's not… it feels good but I… feel _better_ when you do. I'd – I'd rather make you come than… come."

Bull realises he's got something new to unravel, but he's not sure now is the best time to stick his fingers all the way in. Instead, anger fading, he paws at him to come closer. "Please. I don't want to feel so much on my own. Please let it be both of us, when… when it's that. I can't explain. I just. I don't want to feel so much on my own, kadan. It's… _frightening_." 

"Why?" Dorian asks him, still so very softly. Deep down, he's aware that he's a _very_ poor choice of person to be giving sensible emotional advice, but it's _Bull_ , so he can't _not_ try to help. "Is it me you're afraid of?"

He bites his lip, hesitant for a moment now. He knows what the Qun says about mages. That they're dangerous, that they invite destruction. That they should make a show of _not_ ever using their abilities, to prove that they can still function in society, lest they be put down for being out of control. And if you're told something your whole life, over and over, by everyone who ever held a position of power or respect over you… it's hard to ignore that. Very, very hard.

And Dorian has been so caught up in how intrigued Bull seemed by what he can do that he never stopped to wonder if, deep down, it was having a very different effect.

This is why the south locks up mages. And why the north locks up mages. And why _Tevinter_ encourages them to marry each other, because it's harder to be put off by someone if you can also do the same things.

Bull shakes his head, _fiercely_. " **NO.** No. _No_." He clasps the back of his neck, trembling. "No. It's…" Oh fucking shitting demon-infested hellhole of a…

"... _I need to know you're happy. I need to know you feel good. I need to know I'm not – I'm not u-using you and… and… that you won't l-leave me when you realise I **can't** do that and… and… it's **special** and you are and I'm not and I want – I want – if I feel th-that much I… I want you to, too, and…_"

Now he's started, to his horror, it tumbles out of him. 

Pain is never the way to make someone honest, he thinks, with a self-deprecating laugh.

"I love you too much, and – and – I'm _terrified_ because – because you _could_ do anything. N-not… not… blood magic, or – or anything like that. You just – _you_. You c-could ask me to do _anything_ and I would, and… and… I _need_ to know it's… **both** of us, and if you – if you make me feel that much, I – I want you to feel it, too. And I can't. I can't give you that. I _can't_ and I don't want it if you don't have it, too." He looks pleadingly at him, begging him to understand. "I love you too much. I don't want it without you. Not – not like that. Sex is one thing, but _that_?"

It hurts in his chest. And he drops his gaze in defeat. " _Please_. I want to feel it _with_ you." 

Now Dorian looks a little startled. "You give me other things," he points out. "Things _I_ could never give _you_. You make me happy, I make you happy. Why does it matter beyond that if we're both _happy_? But…"

...he's pushing too hard, isn't he?

"...but you're not, and I'm sorry. I never meant to… to make you feel anything other than _good_... and if I haven't, all I can do is ask you to forgive me, and promise not to do it again."

And it stings more than a little to say that, because his magic _is_ what makes him special, and he remembers the way he felt when he first showed Bull what he can do and the other man looked so… _awed_. Here was this phenomenal, strong, educated, _brilliant_ warrior… and here was something that actually made him _impressed_.

It's painfully ironic. He's spent so long convinced he's not enough, and all of a sudden, he's starting to wonder if he is in fact _too much_.

Bull is angry again. Why won't he listen? He _shoves_ , shoves until he has Dorian under him, and **glares**. "Why is it wrong of me to want _you_ to have it, too, and ask you to do it to us _both_? I can't do it – so – so you have to! Kadan… it feels _good_ but it's not **right** if you aren't there _with me_!" 

He thunks his head into the other's, hoping percussive force might work where garbled words don't. " _I want you to do it to us **together** because I want you to **feel it too** because I feel better when **you're right there with me**_." Another thunk, his voice pleading. "Why don't you get that I feel _best_ when I – when it's _us_ and not **me**? Why don't you get that it isn't about – about – who puts what, where, how fast, when… I need it to work in _here_."

He grabs hold of Dorian's hand, and slams it onto the mark on his chest. "It isn't. _Sex_. It's…" Love. Feelings. Hurt. Pain. Joy. All things and not just physical. "Do it. Do it all the damn time. But do it for us _both_ when I can't, because if it isn't _you_ , it isn't right, and you're just going to have to deal with me needing your damn **help** and stop making me feel like a shit for asking for it! **Help me**! Don't you know how hard it is for me to _ask_ that, to admit I need it? I **do**. You said you'd do anything. You promised. So do what I can't. Do it because I _can't_ , and I **need**."

It's a simple fact of life that, the more conflicting emotions there are in Dorian's head, the harder it is for him to think straight. Or act sensibly. Or do anything, really, that _isn't_ deeply self-destructive.

Part of him wants to back down, and promise to do whatever Bull wants, and not push the matter any further. That's a newer part of him, because backing down and doing as he's told are not usually things Dorian goes in for, but he's so desperate to make this work that he'll consider retreat as an option.

Part of him wants to yell. Really, really yell. Demand to know why the other man thinks he can call all the shots. Why he's ignoring – or forgetting – the fact that Dorian might want to give as well as receive; not for the power, but just for the fact of doing it in the first place. As some way of showing his gratitude to the man for being so wonderful to him, for saving him, for _continuing_ to save him.

Part of him wants to cry. Again. He's still raw from being so emotionally ripped open not all that long ago – to say nothing of the day he's had – and all of this is just proving the point he's supposed to be moving on from that he destroys everything good that happens to him. Even when he's actively trying not to.

He's exhausted. Washed-out. Emotionally unstable. _Desperately_ sober.

And impulsive. So stupidly impulsive. Alexius taught him to damp that down, but he never mastered stopping it altogether. So… he does the only thing he can think of that his mind _doesn't_ immediately contradict… which is to smack both hands against Bull's chest, and _slam_ outwards with all of the mana he has left. Into both of them at once.

Bull grabs his face, pushing his mouth against Dorian's, not kissing but letting out all the pent-up emotion in a noise between cry and yell. It's. It's. He---

Fuck, but it's stupid, and they're both stupid, and he just wanted it to be _good_ and his stupid lack of _this thing_ means…

"I fucking _love_ you," Bull hisses, fighting through the overwhelming sensations, desperately trying to hold on. "I love you, I love you, I just – I – _it only works when it feels right I'm s-ssssorry I--- **need you so much**_..." He's fighting with all he has, trying to hold out, trying to take the force of it. " _I just wanted you to be as happy as I was_." 

Bull collapses, sobbing, and trying with what power he's got left to ask Dorian to hold him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_. I don't know how to do… I just love you too much not to want it to be _perfect_ and I – you – I couldn't give you what I wanted to… it… it feels… it feels better when I can… I feel… worth you…"

Dorian drops back as well, now completely exhausted from over-exerting himself (again) after having made a mental note to be _more careful_ about doing that, given he would probably have been _killed_ had those templars turned up a couple of hours earlier.

But… yes. Self-destructive. Or possibly just very, very dumb.

"You _are_ perfect, you great Qunari idiot," he manages. "And you're worth a thousand of me on your off-days, so you can stop worrying right now and trust me. I'm smarter than you."

He does reach up and hold on, though. _Hard_. Needing the other man so very badly, and now completely out of ideas as to how to help, besides going to see how much wine the innkeep will sell him without asking too many questions about all the noise.

"If you're so damn smart, why didn't you realise I needed… I _need_ you to feel good – or me to think you do – or it doesn't… work?" Bull pushes his face into the pillow, trying to ride out the way it washes through him. "It's. It's not. Not the magic. It's."

The emotion. The feeling. The connection. He bites at the pillow, and claws at the bed. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. 

"I'm… complicated," he finally says, when he's stopped eating the bedding. "I… can climax just… fine. But the other stuff – the – stuff which… it's only been you. It's… _complicated_. And. I **want** that. If I just wanted to fuck a hole and fall asleep… you've got several, and I've got two hands… it's…"

Things he hadn't looked into, and he's piecing together from the mess he's in. 

"It's the other stuff. And… I was sure you'd be with me, and when you weren't… it felt wrong inside my chest. Like it was incomplete. And you didn't want to come with me… why? Why? Are you trying to punish yourself? I don't know… I'm… I _keep_ control, and – and you took it and…" Bull's face shoves into Dorian's neck. "I'm not saying _don't_. I'm… saying if you do… I need you to do what I'd… what I'd try to do, for you. I mean – I mean if I can't, then… then I can't let go right if you aren't… if you aren't as happy as I'd have tried to make you… because… because that's what matters. To me. And yeah, maybe that means I can't give up control properly. But if it's because I'm too busy caring about _you_ then I don't think I should apologise. Because it's not gonna change. It's – it's who I _am_."

Deep. Slow breath. "I'm not… angry. I'm not disappointed. And we… can try again. But we do it _better_. We… **learn**. If you're going to… do that… then I want to make it work _right_. So you're gonna have to… work with me. On what it is we both want, and need. And… I need to, too. Because I don't know how to be what it was you needed, right then, either. And I _want to_. Because if we can make both of us feel how you nearly just made me feel…?"

"I'm sorry," Dorian whispers, looking more than a little agonised. "I thought… I misjudged… I…"

It's a good thing the other man is still pinning him to the bed, because otherwise he'd be trying to run for it right now. Or… something like that, at least. Not that there's anywhere he could or would go (beyond maybe the tavern).

"...you… you know I've never been in love before, either? Because I haven't. And… and I have no idea how you do this. Previously, seeing someone more than _once_ was significant. I didn't have to… to think of more ways to keep things interesting, because… because the same few tricks were always enough. And I was just trying to _give_ because I _feel_ so much and I wanted to show you, and…"

He has a sudden urge to be on his knees. Why is that?

"I'll do anything you want. Anything. Anything, to make you happy."

Bull laughs. It's not an unkind laugh. He folds an arm over Dorian's chest, and uses it to prop himself up. "Kadan… listen to us. Listen to what we're _fighting_ about. It's just because we both didn't want to admit things we're scared of. It's silly. And it's stupid. And – I guess – it's because we're _in love_."

He pushes noses, just a little. "And I haven't… worked it all out yet. What it means for me, what it means for _you_. How… to get through all the times we're gonna get our strings crossed and tangled up. **But I want to**. And that's what matters. I **want** to. And I want to have less times we're confused, or don't understand… but if it means we have to have some times we are to get to those _incredible_ times we're _so not_? It's worth it. To me. All of it is worth it."

His left hand draws lightly over Dorian's face. "We're gonna have these times when we didn't know what we meant, or wanted. When something we didn't expect turns up. And… it's gonna be harder, because _you_ are smart, and strong enough to be difficult to read, and understand. Because there's so _much_ of you. But that's part of what I love about you…" His tongue sneaks out over his lips. "...and I want to… let you do the same, if… if you want it. What you did before… it was… it was… I can't even tell you how, or what. Just that I was _furious_ with myself that I couldn't do the same, and **enraged** because I wanted you to know it, too. Because it's… that's how my mind works. And I was too far into my head to be able to try to think what you were trying to say. And you were too far into _your_ head to understand I wasn't… I wasn't ungrateful. I'm just… I wasn't ready to let you do that and not try to give back. Neither of us was wrong."

The tiniest, softest kiss. "You'd be interesting if you were passed out, drunk, snoring. It isn't what you can _do_ – although that's pretty damn awesome – it's _why_ you want to do it, and how you feel, and how it makes me feel. _That's_ what I'm into. You could tie me up with tiny little ribbons and poke me with a single knitting needle, and if it was _you_ I'd take that over a hundred thousand magical sex-slaves. Just so happens you have the whole damn package. Hearing you say that, just now? _Why_? That… that means more to me than any spell you could ever do. _That_ is what… works. And if you push me far enough under… I can't read you as well as I can everyone else. Actually… you're the most frustratingly, wonderfully complicated person I ever **met**."

Dorian somehow manages to blush and look like he might cry at the same time.

"I don't deserve you," he murmurs, not quite able to meet Bull's eye. "But I'd still fight to keep you. And… I'm sorry."

A pause, and a deep, deep breath.

"I'm not as good at this as I think." And _that_ takes some admitting, because Dorian doesn't like to concede his superiority _ever_ , and especially not in cases where he thinks it's _actually_ true. "But… I want to be. Very, very badly."

"And I think…" he goes on, aware his mouth is just running now, but too emotional to prevent it, "...I think something in me makes me _want_ to lash out. To… to… provoke a reaction that validates the way I feel, and proves my fears right. Even though it isn't what I actually _want_. So… so if I do that again, you should feel free to whack me about the head until I stop. Or something along those lines."

"Kind of hard to do that when you're literally so strong you can make my dick travel through the whole continent in a single touch." Bull says it lightly, and his hands get gentle, soft again. "You – you can do things to me no one else can. And – and I don't… have a playbook that covers you. You are _so_ much more than the Ben-Hassrath could _dream_ of preparing people for. Which – by the way – you should see as an _extreme_ compliment…"

Some wriggling, a little light kicking, and he manages to get them into something approaching a comfortable, snuggling position. "You push to prove I'll leave. To prove I'll give up. You think it's going to happen, and you'd rather it happened sooner, than wait and be heartbroken." This part, this part Bull understands. He pulls a hand to his lips, and kisses it oh-so-sweetly. "I told you… it won't work. And… well. You should probably _also_ feel… some sense of accomplishment in knowing… no one else has ever pushed me so hard I lost it like I just did. Even for a moment. But it won't drive me away… nothing will."

Another kiss, and he gazes up at the other man. "We work through this. Preferably with more talking first, and less yelling _during_. But you… don't you see? Just now, you told me _so_ much. So, so much. Things I can use to love you better. It… it isn't always wrong, to make mistakes. Or get confused. Or fight. It means… it means it matters enough to fight _for_ , and it means… when you work it out, it _really_ works. So… kadan… do you still love me, even if I get things wrong?"

"Of course I do," Dorian gasps, curling into him as hard as he can and trying to just disappear in his arms. "And… and… the things I can do… you know I'd never… I'd never hurt you. And I know you're not really used to being around… people like me… but… I mean it."

He doesn't like the lingering feeling that he did something the other man _didn't_ want. As in, _actually_ didn't. Not just within the context of a scenario. And it hurts, because that's just not him at all, and he's not sure why it happened, and he's second-guessing what he was thinking before he did it, in case he _knew_ and did it anyway.

Control. Control is _vital_. Perhaps that's why he suddenly likes giving it up, so he can hand it to the one person he trusts for just a little while, and stop himself feeling crushed by the weight.

"I know." Bull wraps him in, tightly. "So, you have to follow… that I still love you, even if _you_ get things wrong. I… had no frame of reference for what you did. I… didn't know how it would make me feel. It's just… it's not happened, ever. And…"

His heart is racing that little bit too fast, still. "...I didn't know… that I'd… feel… feel so… inadequate. That I'd… feel I let you down. Because I _haven't_. Haven't… felt that way. Not… not when it comes to pleasure, and giving it to others." He tries to will his heart to slow down, but it's still a little raw. "You… showed me something. Something new. Something… I can get _better_ at. And if it matters to you, to… do things to me I can't to you… then… we can. But only if you know what it will do to me, and why. If… if you break people, you have to be prepared to put them back together, after. And you have to do it for the right reasons. Not to hurt them, or punish them…" 

His eye struggles to stay here, and now. It wants to flutter closed, off into some distant mental world. Bull fights not to let his head float away again. "You mean so much to me, that… I would do anything, if you wanted it. Just… you need to… be prepared for how I feel, when you do. I'm…" A little laugh. "I'm complicated, too. And I'm not going to want to give up on taking care of _you_ all that easily. Because everything in me screams that I need to support you, protect you, _help_ you. You're asking… you're asking me to go somewhere I don't know how to navigate, not yet. So you'll need a little patience with me. I _trust_ you. But that doesn't mean either of us knows everything. I don't trust you to be perfect. I trust you to _care_."

Dorian closes his eyes for a moment, trying to get his thoughts in order. Trying to say _nothing_ , until he can say the right thing, because this – _they_ – matter like nothing else ever has.

"I don't want to overstep," he says, after the moment passes. "I'm not trying to push for control. I… genuinely thought I was doing what you wanted, and then when I realised I was wrong, I… guess I panicked a little. But I… I like it when you take care of me. No one ever did that before, and it's so very lovely, and… I was afraid I was taking advantage of it; of… of you…"

He realises he probably sounds like a total idiot, and he _hates_ that, but the words are too important not to say. And he's not used to feeling so out of his depth.

"...and I felt the same, when you didn't join me." The breath that comes out… splinters like a sheet of ice under the kiss of a blade in just the right place. "You tried to… fix how I made you feel… and it made me feel the same." They're idiots, clearly, is Bull's professional opinion. 

"You _were_ doing what I wanted. Except I wanted to do it for _you_. And… I hadn't thought… I hadn't realised… that caring so much for you might make you unhappy." But now he does. And fuck, but how did he miss something so fundamental? 

Blind spot. Dorian is utterly his. 

"You didn't overstep, kadan." He arches, to kiss between his brows, above his nose. "I promise. I _promise_. It's just… apparently both of us aren't good at letting people take care of us. But… I _want_ to be. If… if you're still prepared to try? I… I would… be _honoured_. If, apparently, as awkward and intractable as you." 

It's a taste of his own medicine, for once. No one's ever turned the tables on him in any way like this before. "If you – if you want control… I'll try to give it to you. At least, once in a while. _Especially_ if you want to control my body like **that** , because you already have all the other parts of me." 

"Most of the time I really don't," Dorian insists, softly. "Or… only very briefly, before you take it back. But you can always tell me what you want me to do, even if it's that. And I… of course I still want to try. When I'm with you, I feel better than I ever have in my life. Even if we're not doing anything. I feel… _right_. And I want to make you feel like that too."

He presses in again, face against the other man's jaw, trying to just let himself _feel_.

"Tell me what you need," he says, not looking up. "Even if it's just 'lie here with me'. I want to make this right."

Bull hugs him, as fiercely as he dares. "This. You. **Us**." Because he does. It's all he never realised he needed, and everything he could want. Even when it ends up messy, it's still…

"...are you… are you… uhm… you know? Spent? In the… magic sense?" 

"...no," Dorian answers, aware this is a very leading question. His mana _does_ feel somewhat drained, but not gone. Plus… magical stamina is a lot like physical stamina. You can pay tomorrow for what you use today. It just… charges interest. "I won't be able to do anything drawn-out, but… I'm sure I can manage a short burst or two."

"So… you could do the lights stuff? I mean… a bit of it?" Bull turns Dorian's hand over, so it's palm-up, and extends his own middle finger to draw loose shapes. "You… think you could make it so the light follows my touches? Or is that too much?"

Bull doesn't want to try anything more physically intense right now. He's not sure he's really fit for it, but he doesn't want to just… stop. "...is that a dumb request? I mean, it's no… fireballs and undead, but…" He likes it. Oddly. It serves no tactical purpose. It does no harm or damage. It's just… pretty. And quiet. And… intimate.

"I like it."

That makes Dorian smile, clearly touched. "Of course," he says, softly, as a little flare of glittering pink sparks starts to chase along the lines Bull is tracing out. "I love the look you get in your eye when I do something like this."

Something slow. Soft. Beautiful. Something… you can take the time to appreciate.

The finger draws a slow, spreading circle out, whorling over his palm and then weaving between his fingers as Bull 'threads' the light back and forth. It's so very strange to see his movements pull something ethereal and intangible from thin air, chasing after Dorian's will and intent. 

"It… it lets me see some of what you see… the things I can't understand. And it… it's something I can start to understand. And it reminds me how damn _awesome_ you are." 

Bull snakes the contact up Dorian's arm, and then dances zig-zags down his chest. "This… feels like… it's just for us. And… watching you make it happen… it's…" He looks up. "I feel closer to you. I'm not afraid of your magic, kadan. Not afraid of you. The only thing I'm afraid of… it's _hurting_ you. Losing you. Letting others hurt you. I wouldn't have given you antidote, instead of _qamek_ , if I didn't have every faith in you. It's **me** I'm afraid of."

"Why?" Dorian asks him, very gently; keeping the trail of sparks going but no more than that. He's caught by the patterns the other man is drawing out, wondering if they're random or if they mean something. But it's his words that feel strongest, loudest, and so Dorian has to ask the question. "You're strong. Skilled. Clearly able to think for yourself. And you know I trust you. So… why are you afraid?"

He's not judging. Not questioning the validity or the reality of the emotion. All he wants is to understand it, because if he can understand it, he can work out how to help.

There's a minor pause in the movements, which is telling, in and of itself. A chink he's letting show, a step beyond what is his… norm. Bull's jaw clicks, his tongue pushed into his cheek as he tries to put the nebulous thoughts into words. 

"I told you… the Ben-Hassrath think we have… dragon blood. The thought goes that… that dragons are savage. Truly savage. Real chaos. Animal insanity, not just… not just like cattle, not just… a nug, a beast of burden… _madness_. Rage. Destruction. That… the people we were, before – the _kossith_ – that… don't laugh at this, okay? That without the Qun… without the rules, the structure… we're one breath away from precisely what we know the _ataashi_ are." 

Which Bull knows, on one level, it's a control mechanism. But it's one of those things where the folklore holds the kernel of its own truth. "...and I know… rationally… that I'm not _really_ going to…" A whistle through his pursed lips that is supposed to indicate insanity. "But it's… it's something my – my people are… prone to. The violence, the madness… I've seen good people crack. I've seen how easy it is for us to slip from one, to the other. You may fear demons, and blood… Qunari fear their _own_ demons, just as much. The ones that don't even need a deal. And normally… normally it's… you _have_ to let some of that rage out, in battle. To survive. But it… you wonder if… if it's going to be too much, too… _much_... that's why I'd try to control that. Training. Release. Fighting…"

His pattern starts to resolve, as he talks. A great, horned head. Broad wings. A tail. Four limbs. The tail curled around, and around, until it meets the head coming the other way. 

"I'd get Krem, or one of the guys, to take the edge off. Or I'd go… find the right heads to bash together. Usually. Before Harland… before him… I did lose control, once. I told you about it. I'm still not sure I even remember it all… when I think about it, it… stops. I know before. I know after. And the middle is… that bit's gone. When I try, it's… just _feeling_ and then nothing. So I – when… when I'm… it helps that you're _there_. It's..." More than he has words for. And it's clearly becoming harder to say, even if he's trying his utmost. 

"I don't want to _harm you_. Not ever. It's… that's why I-- if I'm making… you feel good… I'm _not like that_. And I **want** to make you feel good. I… it's _right_. It's right. It's more powerful. _You_ are more powerful. And I can… I can hold on to that, when… when everything else is too much." 

Dorian listens, not interrupting, until Bull falls silent. He may not be able to relate to the specifics, but still… he understands. Understands the fear of losing control, of the self, of the urges inside. He's not Qunari and doesn't have anything close to that kind of physical strength, but he has strength of a different sort, and he knows he could do a lot of damage with it if he wanted. Or… _didn't_ want, but didn't have a choice.

"You… know I'm not afraid of you, don't you?" he asks, softly. "Because I'm not. I was, when we first met, but… it didn't last. I don't worry that you'll lose control, or that you'll hurt me. You've always been so careful with me that there's no room in my mind for doubt. _Kaffas_ , even that first time, when your blood was pounding in your ears and you slammed me into that tree… you still negotiated genuine _consent_ before you did anything else."

To him, that's the crux of the difference. Bad people take. Good ones offer.

"And I know that won't _magically_ take the feelings or the fear away. I do. I just want you to remember that I'm here, and… and that will always be the difference between now and Seheron. I wasn't there to pull you back then. I am now."

A strange, quiet little choke. "I know you could stop me, if you needed to. It's… it's that I don't want to lose 'me'. I don't want to _need_ stopping. I – I don't want to ever be the man who **would** hurt you. But if you'd been there – that day – if you'd been _anywhere_ nearby, and I hadn't known you…"

Bull's hand stops, and he looks down at it. There'd been so much blood when he'd finished. All over. Everywhere. Flecked over his horns. Gumming up buckles. Ground under his fingernails. Dried, caking, cooling over him to make a shell. 

"I didn't _want_ to do that… or did I? Which is worse? If I wanted to, or if I didn't, and I had no way to stop it?" He can't decide. Both are equally horrific. 

"You _should_ be afraid of me. Who – what – I have to be _different_. I have to – every day – make sure it never happens again. Have… have you ever lost your mind and done something you thought you'd never do? Swore you wouldn't? Have you ever _not been yourself_?" 

"...yes," Dorian answers, suddenly quiet. "Twice. Not… not quite the same, but… I was nine, the first time. I'd just discovered a love – and a talent – for magical duelling. It's not supposed to be done in a _dangerous_ way when you're that young, but…"

He bites his lip. "I was an apprentice at the Circle in Carastes. Very elite, very prestigious. Most of my classmates were like me: children of magisters, or other senior mages. We were the cream of the crop. The best of the best. Supposed to be… oh, the usual. Bringing honour to our family names. Preparing to step up and lead as the next generation. And there was one other boy in particular… he was the son of one of my father's rivals, and both of us knew it. We hated each other. One day, we had a disagreement over something – it doesn't matter what – and he challenged me to a duel. Of course, I accepted. It was supposed to be private, but somehow the other children found out. Maybe he told them, I don't know. I just know they all seemed to think he'd win. He was bigger than me, more popular than me. I remember squaring up to him and thinking just how _badly_ I wanted to show him up in front of everyone… and the next thing I knew, he was crumpled in a heap on the other side of the courtyard, with two of the girls trying to put out the worst of the flames. Apparently, I blasted him straight into a brick wall and lit him on fire before he even managed to get a barrier up. Put him in the infirmary for almost a week. But I had _no_ memory of doing it. I just remember a _thundering_ in my ears and then…"

He trails off, almost as if he's coming back to himself right now. "...I know it's not the same. And I'm not trying to claim I understand completely. But… I do understand a little."

"It's the same." Bull is certain of that. Hands wringing over the other. Rubbing at the itch suddenly inside. "Magic. Fists. Words. It – it's the same. When you – when you _lash out_. When it… when you aren't _there_ to stop yourself… and then, after… you have to live with what you did. What you said. Who you hurt…" Or killed. Or ripped to shreds.

Bull's chest works shallowly, skittering over the edge of something. Don't breathe too deep. Don't think too much. 

Don't think about…

"There's a part of me that was _fine_ with it, or I wouldn't have done it. And all those voices saying 'no', saying… do the right thing… be the right man… I know at least once, I didn't listen." Which is why he invests so much time and effort into it, now. Why he surrounds himself with people who need him. Why he has these rules of engagement, and acceptable targets, and things he hasn't consciously admitted to himself. A series of ever-complicated checks and balances, designed to minimise all risk, all harm. 

"...what if… what if you see _him_ , and… you can never see 'me' again?" 

"Amatus," Dorian says, softly, putting a hand on Bull's face. "I know who you are. Who _you **are**_. You are _this_ person; this brave, brilliant, wonderful man who, when all is said and done, wants to make the world a better place. And who saved my life more than once. So if I were to see some other side of you… it would be the exception, not the rule. I'd know it wasn't _you_ , and I'd fight to pull you back."

"And I know," he adds, a little more hesitantly. "I know part of you was fine with it. Part of me was fine with what _I_ did. Part of me was surprised when I found out my father was angry, rather than proud. Part of me _didn't_ regret it, because _no one_ messed with me after that. But if I could go back, and stop it happening? I would. No question about it. And _that_ is the difference."

Bull doesn't meet his eyes, fighting to swallow past the whole longsword suddenly there in his throat. His mind just… smashes into the wall, over and over and: "I'd have told the Ben-Hassrath and the whole fucking _Qun_ to go fuck themselves, before I went to Seheron again."

He's startled by the outburst. Not the vehemence behind it, but the fact that he'd never even thought to ask the question. Time is linear. You don't get to go back and do it over. You get what you're given, and what you can scratch out of it, claw from the world to keep for yourself.

But he wouldn't. He wouldn't go, if they asked him. He isn't the fresh-faced _liar_ they bred him to be. There's scar tissue, inside and out, and knowledge and miles on him. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't.

And like Dorian took delight in what he did to the templar before – and Bull did to Harland, before even that – he wouldn't do that to anyone unless there was a damn good reason. 

So maybe he does have a dragon coiled up in his guts. So does Dorian. And he seems to be okay with it…

He forces his gaze up. "You're the one afraid of your own magic, not me. And I'm the one afraid of my own… blood-rage. Not you. But you've never hurt me. And I've never hurt you. So, kadan: isn't it time we stopped being afraid, now that we can keep each other safe?"

Dorian leans in and kisses him very softly. "Yes," he says. "Because we can. And we _do_. And I love you _so_ very much, and intend to spend _very_ many years reminding you of that."

Another soft kiss, first to the lips and then to the jaw. Just gentle affection, because he still _feels_ so strongly, but it's calmer now. More level. Deep waters, rather than foaming waves.

"I have… a proposal." It's a little wavery, when Bull says it. "But it means I am asking you for something you may be the only one able to do, at times. It's… a compromise. Maybe?" Bull traces a finger around the other's round ear.

"If one of us wants to… show the other some special attention, alone… then it's under the agreement that if the other person asks, there's at least one turn later when it's both parties. So. We can still do it. For the… gift of it… but if we want to meet again in the middle, after… we know it's agreed. Not… not because of some perverse pride, but… but because of whatever reason we want? And… if that means we're begging, or screaming… it isn't because we're _unhappy_. It's because we want to chase the part where we're back together…?"

That makes Dorian smile. "Of course," he answers. "Because I want to make you happy. I… like the thought of you being my _singular_ focus. I don't mean me being in control… just the chance to give you some of what you give me. To make you feel _amazing_."

And it doesn't even have to be with magic. Though… it likely would be included at some point, if only because Dorian _loves_ how much Bull enjoys it.

"Well, if I know it's only temporary… and that I'll get to see the face you make… mmm. Yes. I absolutely agree to those terms." In fact, that makes it a lot more interesting, Bull thinks, and his hand moves under Dorian's jaw, tilting his head up for another kiss. 

"I… like… being your focus. I just… it felt like it was… _special_. And… I wanted to share that with you, because… it went _all_ the way inside…" Bull uses his thumb to flick at the curl of dark hair above his lip. "So if you're worried that I didn't like it? _Oh boy_ were you ever wrong. Just… you do that to me? You're gonna make me want to do something even **bigger**. When I get my brain back in my skull. You _monster_. Is there even… do you even know if there _is_ a limit?"

Dorian looks pleased at this. "There's a limit," he replies. "But don't worry. I've practiced on myself…"

Which is just _sensible_ , obviously. You don't use magic on someone if you don't know precisely what it's going to do. And OK, yes, there's no need to test things on yourself that you're going to use in _combat_ , because that's just silly (and because sooner or later you'll set yourself lightly on fire by accident anyway). But for more _personal_ uses… you need to know what you're doing. Extensively.

Also it feels _really_ good. And sometimes it's hard being single all the time.

He grins. "I'm glad you like it. I'm not used to being with someone who can overpower me so easily… so it's good to have a way to tip the balance back every once in a while…"

Some smooth moves, and Bull has Dorian on his belly, where he can then stretch out over his back, and then wrap his arms under his lover's upper body, hands mapping out his collarbones as he becomes incredibly invested in his neck. 

"So… you can't just say things like that. I want to hear about it. I want to hear how many times you could make yourself come in a night. And what you'd think about, when you did it…" A basso little rumble, from deep below his ribs. "Maybe I'd like to watch you do that, some day. Hold you while you make yourself feel everything I order you to."

Dorian practically _purrs_ at that, arching back against the other man just to feel how firmly he's held in place.

"My record is six," he answers, almost academically. "In my defense, I was very single and very sober. And then I slept for almost thirteen hours. But it was really _good_ sleep…"

He arches back more, turning his head to nuzzle against Bull. "I thought about all kinds of things. Some very unoriginal. Some… _far_ more so. Never being with anyone long-term meant I had to keep most of my fantasies to myself."

"When we're somewhere safe… you wanna try for seven?" The thing is, if you're a competitive soul… you just can't help but push that envelope, every single time. Bull grips Dorian's hips, and grinds against him. "Mmmm. I had a thought. _A different one_. For a little… wager… or challenge, shall we say? One with the best of both worlds, perhaps…?"

"Very, _very_ badly," Dorian answers, grinding back against him. "Maybe I'll even share a few of my other fantasies with you in the process…"

And then he's intrigued. And also (you may have noticed) very competitive. "Do tell. I _love_ a challenge."

"Well… there's always… _revenge_. Because… if I held you down and made _you_ the focus of my attention… maybe for hours… made you come, over and over and over… until you **can't** take any more, and _then_ you lash out…?" Bull purrs, and rolls from shoulders to hips. "Or the other way. You pin me down and torture me with pleasure… until I break free… both would give us time to… indulge our need to _lavish_ attention…"

Yes, minutes ago, it was anathema. Now – because they're talking about _why_? Bull is utterly smitten with the idea. 

"Mmmmm," Dorian purrs back, with a happy little shiver. "Now _that_ I like, either way around. Especially the latter one. I _love_ the thought of pushing you and pushing you until you have to take _extensive_ revenge…"

Yes. Oh yes. The mental images alone are worth it. The reality would be a thousand times better. And OK, at this rate, possibly their libidos are going to kill them. But if they do, it will be a _glorious_ death.

"You see what I mean about… _why_? I get off on your _thoughts_. Your wants. I get off knowing what you're into, and why… so you're just gonna have to tell me what you're doing. What you plan to do. What you want to get out of it…" Bull starts to kiss from one shoulder around to the other. 

"...fuck my _mind_ , as much as my body. It's _you_ I'm into… and if you're going to go around _pushing_ me, you'll get **so much** further if you tell me what you're feeling… Gnnnnhhh. Do that, _plus_ your kinky, all-powerful magic shit? You'll **destroy** me."

"Oh, amatus, I won't _destroy_ you," Dorian says, a wicked edge to his tone. "I'll simply take you right to the _edge_ of destruction… over, and over, and _over_ … just to see what you'll do when you finally snap…"

Yes, he is being provocative. And no, he does not feel guilty about it.

"Because, you see, I can hold you down with magic if I want to. I'm _very_ good at maintaining multiple spell-effects at once. So I can _really_ go for it, and no doubt the power-high will make me _very_ cocky as I inflict untold _bliss_ on you… and won't it just be such a terrible shame when I exhaust my mana and can't stop you from turning the tables? I'm sure you'll be _so_ very wound by that point. Very inclined to take your time exacting a suitable revenge…"

"I destroyed whole _villages_ for less. I've cleaved the head off a **dragon** , just because it looked at me like I was dinner… you think what I'd do to you would be easy?" Bull pushes his thumbs into either side of Dorian's lower back, as he gnashes his teeth into the back of his throat. "People hear my name and run the other way… they know I could rip their limbs from their bodies… they know I'm the one with the single highest kill count on that _shithole_ of an island… do you really want to gore a bull? _The_ Bull?"

He licks a stripe where he'd just bitten. "Even the Ben-Hassrath were scared of me. They sent me south to protect themselves. And you – some perverted, wonderful, ridiculously gifted Vint mage… oh, you should know they'll need to invent new terms for what I'll do to you when you can't keep that barrier up a moment longer… I don't have to be stronger than your magic. I just need to _outlast_ it. Because you won't harm me, and all I need to do is survive long enough to show you why the shadows fear my name."

Dorian _shudders_ from head to toe, closing his eyes in bliss. "I can't _wait_ ," he breathes. "Because I won't be scared of you. I'm not scared of _anything_ I can control with magic. But that moment… when it finally sputters out and I won't be able to stop you doing _anything_ you want… _oh_ , yes. I'll beg for mercy. I'll be _desperate_. But I'll already know it's far too late."

He shivers again, arching back, using just enough force to make Bull have to hold him in place, but not so much that he's actually putting up any kind of genuine resistance.

"Tell me what you'll do," he pleads. "Tell me the consequences of _daring_ to challenge you."

Bull grabs for his hands, and slams them – crushingly tight grip – into the bed. He thrusts against him, slow and grinding. "What will I do? I'll rip anything you're wearing from you. Tie you down with your own, fine clothes. Rip silk into a blindfold, use leather to buckle you into position… bent over a chair, first. Tied down, to give me access to your ass. And I'd spank that ass of yours, for every single time I breathed while you thought you were in control… Spank you until your cheeks were as pink as your ring… Maybe I'd make you count. Maybe I'd make you _thank_ me. But you'd _apologise_. **And I wouldn't accept a word of it**."

" _Ohfuckyes_ ," Dorian gasps, feeling as though the world has flipped right over at that. Or maybe it's just him. Either way, it's _heady_. "I'll still try to resist. I won't want to give in. Won't want to give you the _satisfaction_. But I'll know it's useless. And when I finally crack, and swear to do anything you say… _anything_ to make it up to you… that's when I'll know you've won…"

He wins too, of course. They both do. That's why it's so perfect.

"No." Bull pushes up with a knee, and the gesture forces Dorian's thighs apart. "No. That's when you think _you've_ won. When I slip through your resistance. When you apologise. When you swear. When you think it's through."

His growl is right by his ear. "If you _dare_ , if you **really** dared… your surrender wouldn't be enough. No matter how long I worked for it. If you _truly_ wanted to see it, to see it all…?" He trails, letting Dorian fill in the gaps in his own mind. 

Dorian can't speak for a moment. Can't. At all. He's too busy coasting out the wave of _terrified_ **bliss** those words provoke in him.

"T-then what _would_ be enough?" he manages, sounding truly drawn. It's hard to know what's more alarming: the possibility of an answer, or the possibility of there _not being one_.

"Mmmm, it'd simply be if I decided it was. You see: if you surrender, and you are immediately freed? Well… there's no punishment at all. Even if you were repentant…" Bull presses his knee against Dorian's balls. 

"...you see… it's not real surrender, if you're doing it for the payout. It isn't real submission, if it's things you want, and crave. It's only _real_ when there's no guarantee of relief. When there's no quid pro quo. When you've surrendered, but _I don't stop_." 

"Do that," Dorian gasps, shuddering all over again. " _Please_."

It isn't just a twisted kind of pleasure he's chasing, either. That's definitely _part_ of it, oh yes, but not all. He needs to know. And though they've hinted at it once or twice… he's still searching for the answer. What he'll do with it when he has it, he isn't sure, but he's confident it will sate something very deep inside. Something that has long since transcended the physical, and perhaps the emotional as well.

"You can't _want_ it, kadan. No…" Bull licks at the place his heart rate is closest to the surface of his throat. "That's the point. You have to _not_ want it. And take it, anyway."

The knee starts to apply painful pressure. "You beg for it, now. You'd beg for it to stop, later. Neither of them work. What you want… is to be unmade, kadan. But when it starts… you will _not_." 

"I… need to… _know_." Dorian can't not admit this. Not to him. The pleasure/pain element of it is enticing, yes, but it's the _knowing_ that really drives him. "I… need to know if I could take it. How much. And… and what would happen when I _couldn't_."

_Unmade_. Yes. Bull's right. That's the word. And some part of Dorian wants it, if only to find out what's on the other side. Even if he's well-aware he _wouldn't_ want it midway through.

It's the same basic impulse that made him study dangerous magic, or refuse to conform, or charge out into the countryside without any more of a plan other than 'find Alexius'. Or… that made him repeatedly provoke his Qunari then-captor. Sometimes common sense is subsumed by a _need_ to _know_ , with little to no regard for the consequences.

"You want to see me, at my most cruel. And yourself, at your most raw." Bull pushes his weight down over Dorian's spine, and melts him into the bed. "You will hate me. And you will curse at me. And you will find things about yourself – and me – that you can't ever put away again." 

He's utterly calm, as he says it. Utterly. It's those shifting panels of kaleidoscope glass. 

"I will do this for you. But not now. Not when you are tired, and weak. Not when you can't truly agree to be pushed beyond your own consent. You must ask me when I know you have had every chance to change your mind. And only then – when I am satisfied, and when I think you are ready – only then will I give you what you never truly can ask for."

Because Bull knows he can rip the mind right out of him. It's what he does with it, after, that matters. "I'll show you what even a demon can't."

Dorian manages a nod. "All right," he says, sounding as shaky as he feels. "I trust you. And I know that… when it's over… you'll be there. _You_. The man I love."

He goes weirdly quiet again, not quite prepared for how _affected_ he feels. Maybe it's the violently-shifting emotions of the day. Or maybe… maybe it's very genuine fear at the knowledge of what he's asking for.

"...would you… would you just hold me for now?" he adds. "I think… I need you to."

"Of course, kadan." Bull's voice is softer again, with the cool tone gone. "Are you comfortable, or do you need to wriggle first?" He rocks left and right, tiny gestures. "I will hold you forever, if it's what you need. It's… what I need, too."

"This is good," Dorian answers. "I like it when you pin me down. Not only to do wicked things, but… just to keep me. I like remembering how much you want to."

It may sound saccharine, but it's true. He does. Even more than the insane fantasies, and he likes those a _lot_.

The quiet, but full-belly laugh at that is followed by ankles looped around ankles, and a very large ex-Qunari breathing in right at the nape of his neck. "I _do_. I told you. More than anything ever, in the whole of Thedas. And… I told you, too, that if you tried to ruin things, or push me away… that I wouldn't let you."

His back arches, just to push him deeper into the bed. "...do you begin to see it, if nothing else? That… we _can_ get through anything?" 

Dorian gives a little nod. "I do. It's… new to me. But I like it."

Sex is great. Sex with Bull is _phenomenal_. But what's even better is the things that exist around it. The idea of someone who is just happy to hold him. And talk to him. And… who he can't push away by being a monumental idiot. Dorian is well-aware he's tempestuous. It's just good to finally have someone willing to weather the storm.

"Kadan… I have one more favour to ask, tonight… I promise." Bull's arms moving to cuddle again, as he settles in for the long haul. "Will you indulge me?" 

" _Anything_ ," Dorian breathes, so full of fervour, as he leans into the contact as much as he can. Chasing it, the way he chases warmth in the cold, but far, far more so.

"Your magic… it doesn't have to be… so intense, does it? It can be… softer…?" Bull's knees tighten just a fraction. "Would you… but for us both? Like… not a storm, but a breeze? While I kiss you and hold you until we fall asleep?"

Dorian smiles. "I can do that. I can make it as intense or as soft as I want. Like… this…"

He holds Bull's hand, and sends a sensation rolling through both of them: slow, and gentle, like lying in warm sunlight that's _just_ the right temperature, or floating in still water.

Bull's eye rolls up for a moment, a low, _soul-deep_ moan of satisfaction. Both at the way it feels as it courses through him, and at the way he knows it's shared. And then kisses the edge of his smile, with another low, throaty tone of appreciation. 

" _Thank_ you. It's… sometimes I wish I could do what you do… because then you'd be able to really feel how… how deep inside me you go… mmmm. Like it best… like this. _After_. When… when you're calm, and happy. When that storm is gone… Like the fucking, too. But like… _after_. When you stay, and stay forever."

"Me too," Dorian murmurs. "I told you… I like remembering how much you want to keep me. It's… like touching an old wound and knowing the thorn that was lodged there is finally gone. You soothe something that I thought nothing and no one ever could."

His fingers tighten around Bull's, and another wave of that lovely _warmth_ rolls through them both, soft and slow and wonderful.

"Then I'll just have to hold you _even_ more. Because. I do. Even when you make me cry, kadan. Because… it's only ever because of how deep inside me you go. Sometimes…" That damn sensation… Bull's too worn to respond with anything but another stretch, and then tightening of the embrace. "...I just wish I could show you how _fiercely_ I care… and my… inability to tell you – to tell you **enough**..." 

So he pulls Dorian's head to one side. "Guess I'll just have to kiss it into you. Seems to make more sense than words."

Kissing regularly makes more sense than words, but right now it is more prominent than it generally is. He licks in past teeth and lips, and speaks the language they have most in common, of all the ones they both know.


	19. Chapter 19

It's the following evening.

After a long and blessedly uneventful day, the group arrive at a tavern known as 'The Fork', because it sits at the point where the road splits in two: one path continuing east towards Markham, and the other heading south, through the Vimmark Mountains and down to the sea port at Ostwick.

They arrange board and lodgings, and are soon settled in the main tavern itself – near the fire (because Dorian insisted) – and enjoying a decent meal and a drink or two. But _no_ more than that, on account of the Incident.

It's as he's gone up to procure the second round of drinks that Dorian decides to try talking to the innkeep: a short and somewhat rotund man with a moustache that could give Dorian's a run for its money. Not that he would ever admit as such out loud, of course.

"A question, if I may," he starts out.

The innkeep shrugs. "Sure. You're paying."

"Have any _other_ Tevinter mages passed through here of late? In the last few days, perhaps?"

This gets him an uninvested scowl. "Yeah. Another of you magister-folk was here… what, three days ago, maybe? Less polite than you. Didn't care for any of 'em myself. Wish we _hadn't_ warned 'em about the dragon, now…"

Dorian feels his stomach lurch a little, and tries not to let it show. "Dragon, you say?"

So the innkeep explains. And Dorian listens, still attempting to seem calm and unconcerned, and then he pays for the drinks and heads back to the others.

"… _So_ ," he begins. "I just had a little chat with the innkeep. I have good news and bad news."

"…start with the bad news," Krem says, warily. 

"So the road leading through the Vimmark Mountains has two main routes," Dorian replies. "One is rather longer and more awkward than the other. Except that the geographically _easier_ route… runs right past the spot where a dragon has taken to roosting."

"A _dragon_? Oh! We gotta go! Did they say what kind? It's still there, right? Oh **man** we're gonna kill that dragon _dead_!" Bull punches one hand with the other, all but dancing in his chair.

"…what's the good news?" Krem asks. 

Dorian has been well-aware this whole time that Bull was going to be _overly-excited_ by the prospect of a dragon. Which is what has him so concerned, because he's not going to be able to tell the man _no_. Which… means he's going to have to fight a dragon.

Which he does not want.

"The _good_ news is that there was a group of Tevinter mages here about three days ago," Dorian goes on. "From the innkeep's descriptions, it was definitely Alexius and his entourage. They _also_ asked about the best route to Ostwick, and on being warned about the dragon, apparently announced their intention to take the longer route, to avoid it."

He doesn't state the obvious response to this. He's confident Bull will do it for him.

"So, not only do we get to _kill a dragon_ , we're gonna gain on them! This is the best day **ever**." Bull is so excited, he launches to his feet. Grabs Dorian around the chest, squeezes, and bends back at the waist until his legs dangle. And then kisses him. On the cheek. _Loudly_.

"Guess I'm going to need to make more potions," Stitches sighs. 

"Looks like," Krem agrees.

Skinner draws one of her knives and gives it a leisurely flick. "I'm game."

It is _hard_ to be negative around Bull when he's blatantly delighted. It really is. But Dorian does not _want_ to fight a dragon. Or go near one. He'd be happy to observe it from a distance, yes, because he's never seen one and it would be fascinating… but there's a big difference between academic interest, and being set on fire. Or whatever this one can breathe, which he isn't sure of (yet).

"…I just want it on record that I counselled _against_ going near what is blatantly a _high dragon_ roost," Dorian manages, sounding like a man who wants more wine. Now, please.

"Of course, of course… Krem, put it in the official minutes: Bull's fiancé was a spoil-sport because he doesn't know how much _fun_ dragon-killing is…" Bull pulls him in to inhale his hair, wriggling again. 

"Sure, Chief."

"And… oh! I wonder what it'll be? What do we get round here? Fire? Ice? Mmm, I hope it's fire. Then Dorian won't feel so cold…" It is possible Bull is now being an ass on purpose. 

"If it's fire, then _none_ of us will be cold, because we will be _on fire_ ," Dorian points out. "And if it's fire, then it will be _resistant_ to fire magic. Which means you'd better hope it has some recently-deceased drakelings for me to raise, because fire is my best elemental school. Not that I can't _do_ the others of course, but… still."

Also, now he's imagining having a miniature army of undead drakelings. And trying to pretend he isn't drawn by the idea.

"Whatever it is, you're gonna kick its ass." Bull sits Dorian down on the table, and then leans in to kiss his nose. "This calls for more drinks. **More** more drinks!"

"This is the part where I remind everyone that drinking before a fight… blah, blah, blah." Stitches clearly knows it's pointless, but tries anyway. 

"Don't argue with the man when he's buying!" Dorian interjects. Because. Because. If he has to fight a dragon, he's having a damn good drink first. Just in case. Although… possibly not _too_ many, as fighting a dragon whilst you have a raging hangover is probably even more suicidally-stupid than _purposefully going where there is a dragon, so you can fight it_.

"What do you want, kadan? I'll get you anything you want…" Bull strokes his hands up Dorian's thighs, ignoring the pointed groans and tuts from his audience. "Mmm, should be careful with you tonight. Want you all nicely full of magic tomorrow, don't we?"

This gets him the kind of glower that no one will be fooled by.

"Wine. A _large_ amount of it. And you've _never_ been careful with me, so why start now..?"

Dorian is also a bad person. And, right now, not a drunk enough one to cope with the situation he's trapped in.

"Because… we're gonna fight a dragon… Mmm, maybe I should get you so drunk you don't keep me up _all_ night, then… I want to see you **slay** it." Bull leans in, snapping his teeth just away from his jaw, and then steps back.

"You… don't move." A finger pointed firmly at the mage, still sitting on the table. And then he's swaggering to the bar to get said wine. 

"Afraid you're in for that all night." Krem elbows Dorian, just lightly. "You, plus a dragon? Don't think I've ever seen him happier."

"Maybe if we got him two dragons?" Stitches ponders.

"Don't. You. Dare."

"…it was hypothetical."

"And here I was, thinking I alone was enough…" Dorian says, over-dramatically. "You're right, though. If it wasn't for the dragon-fighting part, I'd be pleased. But I really don't want to be rent limb from limb, especially not whilst halfway up a mountain."

"Eh, we've all walked away from fights so far. Or limped. The Chief takes on big buggers, but we're never really screwed." The other Tevinter swirls his ale slowly. "And I reckon if you gave him the choice of a dragon _or_ you, you'd have your answer which he'd pick."

"Yeah, it's the 'plus' thing he likes the most." Then Stitches snorts. "But – not like that."

"Not like what?" Bull asks, coming back with several bottles of wine strung from the neck, between his fingers. "Are you all talking tactics ready?"

"Can our tactic be 'walk very quietly and hope it doesn't notice us?'" Dorian tries, looking hopefully at all the wine. It may be Marcher peasant stock, but it's still _wine_ , and therefore he wants it. Rather badly now.

He's still perched on the table, and he tries to give Bull an endearing look. The kind of look you _want_ to give wine to. Because of how endearing it is.

"Listen up, ladies and gentlemen: this is possibly the only time Dorian Pavus has proposed a strategy of 'being unremarkable and passing by without fanfare or comment'." Bull swings one bottle between his fingers, just out of reach of Dorian's hands. 

"Fanfare and comment are all well and good, but even _I_ draw the line at provoking a dragon," Dorian retorts.

If they were alone, he'd happily be using magic to get at the wine, but given that they're in public, he resists the urge, because people have a tendency to stare. And sometimes call the templars. And he'd really rather not deal with any more of those, thank you very much.

"You could always stand really, reaaaaaally far back…" Bull wraps his arm around Dorian, but still doesn't concede the bottle. Or the other two. "If you're afraid."

"I'm not going to apologise for being concerned about a _dragon_ ," Dorian insists. "Quite frankly, anyone who says otherwise is either lying or insane. Naturally you would be the latter. And _besides_ , I'm a mage. I _always_ stand far back. It's _tactical_."

"Isn't it actually so you can look at my butt?" Bull squeezes him under his arm, and starts nibbling over his ear. 

"We could just… give you some room?" Krem suggests. 

"Nah, Dorian likes it when you watch." 

This gets him a flat look, before Dorian turns to his fellow countryman (without, it must be noted, trying to get Bull to desist). "Cremisius, dear boy, tell him to behave. He listens to you."

"Yeah… sorry, Buckles. You're in that fight on your own." 

Although while they're talking, Stitches takes advantage of Bull's blind side to retrieve one of the bottles of wine, and offers it to Dorian.

"Traitors!" Bull laughs, having known full well what they were up to, but letting them 'win' all the same. He brings one of the other bottles in, to run the cork over Dorian's lips. 

Dorian gives Krem a faux-put-out look. "You were supposed to be my favourite! Stitches is my favourite now," and he hefts the bottle, glancing at it appraisingly. "I don't even know what this is, but if it's wine, it will do…"

And then Bull starts doing _that_ with his own bottle, and Dorian is immediately possessed of an urge to _misbehave_. Which… apparently means grabbing the cork in his teeth, yanking it out, and offering it to Bull with a wholly unconvincing demure look.

Bull's eye darkens at that, and he leans in to tilt his head and seal his lips around said cork and growl.

"It was a team effort." Krem takes the (now-opened) bottle from Bull's hand. "Sometimes you gotta grab him by the horns."

Bull nods, still with cork in mouth. 

Dorian uncorks his own bottle with a similar level of finesse, and then takes a long, deliberately provocative swig from it, without taking his eyes off Bull. If he has to fight a damned dragon, then – Andraste's ass – he's getting drunk, and then getting laid. Preferably a lot on both counts.

"Mmmouuu fffhimk dis'd fhhhit 'ssss pwuggg?" Bull asks, around the cork, grinning widely. 

Krem has the decency to pour out the bottle they've stolen, and he puts his boots up on the table. "Don't stop just because of us. I'm waiting to see which of you snaps first."

"Dwwwhhm."

"Amatus, darling, please use real words in public," Dorian deadpans. And then his expression goes positively _wicked_. "And yes, I'm sure it would. It's hardly as large as… other things."

A sweet, sweet little smile. And… more wine.

"Mhhbeeehhhh fwawww hhhhout…" Bull stabs it with his teeth, then pushes his tongue out past it on one side, deliberately fellating the – well – tip. 

"Surely you can do better than _that_." Krem shakes his head. "Chief used to tell me about all sorts of interesting things the Qunari made. And now you're using garbage?"

"Interesting things!" Dorian exclaims, happily. "You haven't told me about any of those. You should do that."

Bull leans in to offer the cork back to Dorian, refusing to drop it so easily. He's still holding one (closed) bottle of wine, which he uses to draw a line up his inner thigh with the neck. "Mmmmmhhhay."

And Dorian, who has never been afraid of being outrageous in public, leans forward to take the cork from Bull's mouth using his own, before depositing said cork in his hand with a very deliberate flick of the tongue.

"Perhaps we should put the children to bed?" he suggests, with an expression that is all eyebrows.

"Perhaps you should put _me_ to bed… but not with that bottle still in your hand. Not if you want to learn about all the wonderful things the leatherworkers of Par Vollen can do…" Bull dips his head down towards the wine bottle he's holding, clearly expecting to receive some. 

Dorian takes another long, long swig of wine; all slow movements and arched neck, before delicately offering the bottle to Bull.

"Oh, I do," he says, smirking. "I _really_ do."

"…someone please kill me…" Skinner murmurs, from the corner.

Bull wraps his lips around the bottle, but doesn't use his hands. Instead, he urges Dorian to tilt it, making eye-contact and making sure it holds while he glugs more wine in one go than should really be possible. 

"Hey, it reduces the competition we have to face in taverns," Stitches reminds her. "Now the ladies are all ours."

"Yeah, but if this little floorshow makes me put my eyes out, it's harder to pick the ones I like," Skinner replies.

When Bull is done, Dorian lifts the bottle back, swirls his tongue around the opening, and takes another drink of his own. He now hasn't blinked in several moments and he's starting to forget other people are here.

Bull steals the cork again, with one hand, and starts to trail it over Dorian's throat… down to glide across his collarbones… down to a nipple… and then he's leaning in for the wine again.

Except the minute it comes close, he's relaxing his throat and sliding several inches of glass into his throat with a moan. 

"Let's leave them to it, then," Krem agrees, and tosses his head at the other two. "Don't think they'll care we're gone." 

The words seem to get through to Dorian, at least a little. He waits until the other three have ambled off in search of less-outrageous company, and then he grins at Bull. " _You_ are _terrible_ ," he says, incredibly fondly.

Bull attempts to look innocent with half a wine bottle down his throat, but really… it's more Mabari puppy who chewed your slippers. And then he relaxes to ease off the glass, licking his lips when he's done. 

"Meant it. About the magic. You think you can keep _that_ bottled up for the night? Even if I'm intent on _ravishing_ you?"

"Of course," Dorian insists, because if he convinces _himself_ , it might actually work. "I'm highly-trained. Besides, if you're suitably… _commanding_ , I won't feel the urge to take liberties…"

"I think… any liberties you might want to take… should start and end with getting me to our room for the night." Which is when Bull steals the bottle, downs the remains, and smashes the empty vessel into the fireplace. 

This gets them several sideways looks, but no one else seems brave enough to challenge the very large Qunari and his boyfriend who is blatantly a Tevinter mage.

"I do love it when you make a scene over me," Dorian purrs, and – taking advantage of still being seated on the table – wraps his legs around Bull's waist and slides arms around his shoulders, shamelessly climbing onto him. "Why don't you carry me off to our room?" he murmurs, now right into Bull's ear. "And let's not both pass out when we get there this time…"

Flirting is great. Sex is great. You know what's also great? _Distraction_ from your dragon-containing future. That's especially great.

"You'll pass out. But not until I've slaked my thirst for you… for the night…" Bull's hands knot under his ass, with the final bottle of wine therefore poking at him. He pulls Dorian in, and down, just enough to feel the evidence of said thirst. 

"I'd fuck you here, on this table, if you asked me to," he rumbles in a low voice. "They're thinking I might… maybe I should give them a show…"

He has every intention of going back to their room. But first, he's going to slam Dorian back onto the beer-soaked table, bending a leg behind the knee, and kissing him angrily while he grinds against him for the show of it. 

Dorian should not shout, "fuck, _yes!_ " when Bull slams him down like that. He really shouldn't.

But he does. And then he's kissing the other man back with abandon, trying to stay as wrapped around him as possible and moaning shamelessly in the process.

"Hey! You two! In your room!" the innkeep shouts, but he sounds more resigned than annoyed.

Bull isn't actually planning on going too-too far, not in public. Dorian is worth flaunting (and then some), but he does actually like the privacy of the actual act. He overtly thrusts to prove the point, and then hefts Dorian over his shoulder, rubbing at his ass as he starts to head that very way.

"Sorry you won't be invited. I'm a one-mage man, now. And this mage is _all_ man." Bull slaps his rump, then grips and moans at the taut muscle and what he intends to do with him. 

"Don't worry about my betrothed, he's just excited because tomorrow we're going to get horribly killed by a dragon!" Dorian adds, as Bull carries him off. Which is probably for the best, because that remark gets them even _more_ weird looks, and they're getting enough to begin with.

Bull squeezes at him as he almost bounces up the stairs. "Oh, hush. You will enjoy it, I promise. And… when we're done… mmm. That night? You can have _anything_ you ask for…" 

The room is easy to find, and easier to open, and very easy to throw Dorian down onto the bed, and slam his hand into his chest to hold him in place. 

"I'm going to hold you to that," Dorian says, not resisting the push. "And you better not die. If you die, I _will_ raise you, just so I can tell you off."

He may have gone down willingly, but he wants to see just how much Bull wants to make him behave, so he reaches up, trying to pull the other man down too.

The hand on Dorian's chest relents only slightly, but then _shoves_ him down, pressing on his ribs enough to wind him slightly. "If you raise me, I will **still** try to bed you. And if you die, I will punch a hole in the Veil and drag your ass back to my bed. Understand?" 

"Oh yes. Although going near the dragon is _your_ idea, so it will still be your fault," Dorian retorts. He's being deliberately provocative; partly because it's fun to provoke Bull to see what he'll do, and partly because he _is_ actually concerned about the whole dragon-business, and has no other outlet for the feelings.

"And when it dies – and we don't – will you concede it was nothing to be so worried about?" Bull uses his free hand to slip the belt from his trouser-loops, and then throws it over his shoulder. Very deliberately. 

Also deliberate is the way he unclips the few buckles around his own chest and waist, flexing his way out of the harness he wears, while keeping Dorian under that lone hand. 

"I'll concede that I could have been _less_ worried," Dorian says. "But at no point will I suggest that purposefully going near a dragon is _nothing_ to be worried about."

He's watching the other man with hawkish intent, trying to work out what he's got planned.

"Mmmm. Fancy a wager, then, kadan? It's one you'll like…" He's down to just trousers, which he can shimmy out of whenever he wants, and he grabs Dorian's collar at the front, hefting him so his upper body is off the bed, and he has no real purchase or power. (Physically speaking, at least.) 

"If we come out of the battle with only minor problems – ones Stitches can handle – and you _enjoy_ it, then… **I** get to do **anything** I want with you tomorrow, instead. And if there's significant injuries, or you don't have fun…"

"Oh, amatus, you _know_ that's win-win for me," Dorian purrs. "We're not dead, _and_ I get to be completely at your lack of mercy. Plus, if there _are_ significant injuries, the mood will be far too serious to warrant any I-told-you-so consequences. Although, if there's no serious injuries but I don't have fun… **I** get to do anything I want with **you**. How about that?"

"You won't be able to lie and tell me you didn't, if you did," Bull points out. He brings Dorian to his face, where he runs his mouth up his throat. "I'll see _all_ the way through you…" 

Then he drops him, and stands back, coiling the belt around his closed fist. "Undress for me." 

"I know," Dorian answers, and he does. That's why it's fair, because it's honest.

And then fuck, but that's hot. And… the sudden air of menace is _really_ working for Dorian right now. Because, as discussed, distraction is good.

So he does as he's told, kneeling on the bed for most of it (because it feels right somehow) and stripping off efficiently, but not too fast. Not when he has an audience. And despite how many buckles and fastenings there are, he still manages to do it a lot quicker than you might think.

And… clothing put safely aside, he goes back to kneeling on the bed. Feeling suddenly _vulnerable_ , because he knows he needs to use little to no magic in order to ensure he's at full strength tomorrow.

"Tell me," Bull says, using just a lick of the belt to flap against his other palm, the sound threatening and promising in one. "…how did you feel, with everyone watching you writhe like a slut on a _filthy_ tavern table?"

Bull's stance says he isn't moving, not for some time. Just that thud of belt to palm, and the tilt of his head very slightly down to watch him. 

"Mostly I enjoyed the idea of them being jealous," Dorian answers, his tone suddenly soft but not at all dishonest. "I'm sure some of them will just have disapproved, but others will have wished it was them, instead. But it wasn't. It was _me_."

His eyes follow the end of the belt as it flicks back and forth, becoming more and more aware of the _threat_ behind it.

"You were certainly enjoying it. I could feel your prick rising against me." Bull doesn't look down at it, he knows it's still most certainly with the program. 

"Touch yourself. Imagine them all thinking about you, right now. Whether they want to or not. Thinking about such a beautiful, elegant, cultured magister-to-be, and the uncouth hands all over him." 

"Of course I enjoyed it," Dorian says, hand on his cock as he starts to do as he's told. "To all but the _staunchest_ lovers of only ladies, I was the luckiest person in the room…"

The ability to be ingratiating and bad at the same time is a gift, and Dorian likes to think he has it in abundance.

Slow, slow strokes. Nothing too involved yet, but enough to look _really_ good.

"Yeah, but even _they_ can't ignore when it's _sparking_. Maybe they wouldn't want either of us, but they want what we **have**." Bull only uses his peripheral vision to watch, focusing on his face, his eyes, and the way his movements track down from his shoulders and upper chest.

The belt snaps out, landing a bare inch from one thigh, making the bed wobble. "Is that the extent of your _arousal_ , Vint? I thought you **wanted** to get fucked. Show me some _real_ hunger."

One of two things should happen here. Either Dorian gives in and apologises, and _surrenders_ , or… he doesn't. He ought to do the former. He really, really should. He's actually trying to.

But his ever-treacherous mind (and even more treacherous tongue) apparently has other ideas. Especially with that belt in the mix; heightening his sense of _danger_.

"And waste the hunger I could be saving for _you?_ " he replies, not rough but not exactly _meek_. "That wouldn't be very good of me."

With not a single tell to betray what he plans, the Iron Bull backhands Dorian's cheek, though nowhere near as firmly as he could. "You think you'll need it? **I** decide if I fuck you or not. **I** decide if you're worthy of my cock tonight. And **I** will fuck you, regardless of your state, if I desire to do so."

_That_ knocks some sense into Dorian. Along with a heady dose of surprisingly genuine fear, although that mostly just turns him on more.

" _I'm sorry_ ," he hears himself gasp, on instinct alone, as he drops his head, trying to find the mental space that will let him go under. Though, from the lines of tension in his body, it's not as easy as he wants to make it look.

"And yet… I don't see you behaving, still. If you were _truly_ sorry, you'd be doing everything you could to please me. Wouldn't you?" Bull knows this is wanted – more than wanted – and so he has no regret whatsoever about the cruelty in his tone.

Perhaps cruelty is too sharp a word. Certainty. Unwavering focus, and demand. 

"Touch yourself. Convince me of your desire." 

Dorian immediately starts working quite a lot harder; his strokes becoming firmer and quicker (though not _too_ fast), and with rather more of a twist to them. And there's no denying it feels good. It would feel good in isolation, but knowing he has Bull's eye on him makes it so very much _more_.

He still doesn't look up, though. He's hoping this is a good idea. Or… he doesn't look up _until_ one of the strokes hits him just right, and he drops his head back in obvious pleasure, murmuring softly in the process.

The movement means Bull capitalises on it, stepping in and suddenly slipping the belt around his throat. His neck is too narrow to use any of the notches anyway, but he pushes the tongue through the buckle and tugs, making a simple choke-chain leash. 

One hand holds the end, the other pushes the buckle close to his throat, stepping in to his personal space. 

"How many times would you come, if you didn't use your magic? Or did you never think to try? Did you ever touch yourself with only your hands? Did you imagine someone watching?"

The belt is laced back through the loops, meaning it won't easily loosen or tighten, as Bull ensures it's firm enough to be very, very noticeable without being dangerous. 

"I hardly need to use magic all the time," Dorian points out, not pushy, but still sure. "You know I have an _active_ libido. The magic is just… one way to do it."

Like a position, or a technique. Or a way to quickly work the arousal out of yourself on particularly lonely nights. The memory makes him shiver… or perhaps it's the other man's proximity, and the kiss of leather around his neck. Possibly that too.

"…sometimes I imagined being watched," he adds. "To make things a little more exciting…"

"You didn't. Answer. My first. Question." Bull uses the belt to yank down, pulling Dorian's weight over his knees to topple him. Not to throw him off the bed, but to make him fight to stay on. 

He's well aware he's pushing what Dorian can handle. That's the point. When you have someone as quick-witted as him, you _have_ to be on your toes. 

Well, shit. That wasn't even deliberate. Dorian is quite happy to take the consequences of _planned_ misbehaviour, but not having realised catches him off-guard.

He struggles to hold his position, whilst struggling _against_ the instinctive urge to resist outright.

"…depends on how long I have," he answers, his voice shaking rather more than he'd like. "Give me a couple of hours, and you know I can go three… four… five times with sufficient motivation. Which I _can_ give myself."

"Of course you can. Sometimes I wonder if you even _need_ anyone, other than it being easier if there's someone to provide the dick." Bull doesn't believe this, not one bit. But it's part of the tale he's weaving, part of the game.

And you can't always let them in on all the smallest ploys, feints, or moves. 

He moves the belt around, so it's trailing upwards, and he's holding it close to his throat. He keeps Dorian over-balanced on purpose. "Did I give you permission to slow down? Did I?"

Fuck. Again with the not-concentrating. Dorian is either off his game, or purposefully trying to sabotage himself without realising it. He isn't sure which, but he has a sneaking suspicion it's the latter.

So he starts working faster again. A little faster than before, actually, and possibly there's an element of fear involved in that, too. Which may be why he suddenly looks more than slightly breathless.

"I don't _need_ someone to provide the dick," he points out. "You know that, too. But… I do very much _prefer_ it."

"I know you don't. But you're very much in love with yourself. I wonder how many people knew how hard that would be to compete with, and looked the other way?" Bull pulls the belt harder.

That makes Dorian bite his lip, looking suddenly hurt. "Probably too many. Good thing for you, though." Which… is not meant to sound flippant, but possibly is a little bit.

"You were asking about Qunari ingenuity. The first time my prostate was stimulated, a Tamassran had a leather attachment, on a belt. Fucked my ass into the Deep Roads and back. I came so hard I forgot how to see for a while." 

Dorian's eyes go wide. " _That_ sounds intriguing. And hot. I imagine the rigidity was… _yes_ …"

As a man who likes men, there's no need for such things, but that doesn't mean you can't _want_ them. And he can certainly see the appeal.

"Would you let her do that to you?" Bull trails a fingernail (harshly) across the arch of bone under his collar. "A Qunari Tamassran. With a dick made of leather and metal? She'd be strong. She'd be _powerful_. On all fours, face down, you wouldn't even know she had tits." 

"No," Dorian answers, arching a little at the rough touch. "Contrary to what you might think, given my past, I do actually prefer an emotional connection. And women – even _really_ powerful ones – just don't do it for me."

It's true. Even if the emotional connection was only imagined. Some part of him needs it.

"Besides," he adds. "I'm _yours_. So even if it _would_ work for me, the answer would still be no."

Bull smirks at that, clearly pleased. He pulls upwards on the belt, hefting Dorian's weight too high so it's slightly choking, holding him near to his lips. "Good boy. But what if I asked her to do it, while I held you still and looked you in the eyes? What then?"

He has no plans to. He doesn't even mind what the answer is… the point is to push at his mind, to tug at the boundaries, and catch him off-guard. 

"Stroke. _Faster_. Look at me when you come. If you're mine, I'll see it in your eyes." He knows Dorian is his, but it doesn't hurt to see the proof. 

Dorian is certainly close. _Really_ close. And speeding up is only going to hasten the inevitable.

"I'd… I'd do anything you say," he manages. "You know that. But… it _would_ be contrary to an _exclusive_ relationship." He tries not to sound flippant at this, because he doesn't mean to be. If anything, he sounds a little hurt.

And then one particularly rough stroke makes him hit that plateau, right before the fall, and suddenly he's desperately trying to look up in time, biting his lip and then crying out as he comes; sharp and quick, the pleasure juddering through him over and over until it finally begins to fade.

Bull loosens the choke-hold, letting Dorian land on his knees again. He slaps Dorian's hand away, and starts to twist his fist over the other man's cock, eye boring into him as he does. 

" _Good_. They can watch, as much as I permit. They can want. They can _need_. But only **I** get to taste your rapture. Only **I** get to see this look in your eyes. Only **I** get to _**own you**_."

He lifts his sticky hand and starts to push two fingers into Dorian's mouth, fucking between his lips and over his tongue harshly. 

"You **belong** to me. _With_ me. You are **_mine, body, heart, soul_**. And I will show you why you submit to me."

Dorian looks _completely_ out of his head. He isn't – not entirely – but he _is_ falling fast, and it feels… different, this time. Perhaps it's because he's actively trying to let it happen, rather than resisting, but the feeling is stronger, and… heavier? Is that the right word?

He can't exactly speak right now, so he tries to make the sentiment clear in his eyes. _Yes. Yes. **Yours**_.

Bull hooks the fingers in Dorian's mouth, and walks around so he has to turn on the bed to face the headboard. He half-drags him up enough so he can loop the belt around the headboard, lashing him in place. 

"Do you know what it feels like, when I see others look at you?" He's striding out of sight, before coming back with things Dorian can't see. "Can you imagine how my blood burns with pride and anger in one?" 

He presses something solid and unyielding into the spot behind his balls. "I wanted them to look. And I wanted to rip their eyes out for daring." 

"I know," Dorian answers, quietly, trying to settle in the new position as much as possible. "But I'm _yours_ , and I always will be. So, in the end… _you win_."

They both do. But he's sufficiently under not to say so right now.

"So… you don't think I should claim what's mine?" Bull asks it very lightly, as he uses the tool to stroke firm, steady circles. "Where's the Vint altus I met on the road? What are you, some kind of lap-mage? Curled up and domesticated?" 

"…what is it you want?" Dorian hears himself say, not quite catching his tone – or, indeed, the words themselves – in time. "You say you want obedience, but when I offer it, you act affronted. So which is it?"

He knows, as the words fall uncontrollably, that he shouldn't have said them. Any of them. But… he did, and he doubts he'll get away with it lightly.

…is that what _he_ wants?

The implement presses, then withdraws. And Bull simply stands there, impassible, arms folded across his broad chest. 

Silently.

Waiting. 

That's not what Dorian expected. For a long moment, he's stunned into silence, but Dorian and silences is never a combination that lasts.

"…tell me what you want," he implores, much more softly. "I want to make this right for you. But… that's clearly not what's happening."

"Is that what you want?" Bull asks. "Is it? When you're driven to _push_? When you beg to be **unmade**? Do you even know what it is you want?"

He makes a soft noise, something against his palm. "You need to understand what it is you asked for. And I don't think you do, yet. Do you think it's simply pain until you can't take more? What is it you think you'll find in yourself, beyond the ability to 'take it'? Do you think you need to, to prove something to me? Or is it something else that itches your mind at night?"

Dorian considers this for a moment, struck by the words, and by the way they make his heart race.

"I… don't have anything to prove to you," he starts out, softly. "I did to begin with, but… not anymore. As for the rest…"

Head down. Breathe. Hope that honesty is what's called for here, because it's what Bull is going to get.

"…I'm not sure," he admits. "I just… _feel it_ , deep down. Like it's a part of me, and always has been, this need to… _know_. To know what it's like. To know if I could take it. To… know who I'd be, on the other side. All I do know is that… that when you _push_ , and I sink… it makes my mind go quiet. Really _quiet_. And… and yes, mostly I like how much goes on up there, but… sometimes taking a break from it is good too."

"And if you uncover things you do not like? What then?" Still that odd, rustling, sliding noise. Bull's voice is even, utterly controlled. 

"I will need you to tell me three times that you want this. That you understand the consequences. That when we start, you will not be able to stop, only I will. That you know I will think no less of you if the answer is 'no', or 'later'. But if you don't like how I have been tonight… you will need to think very, very carefully before you answer me." 

"If… if I uncover things I don't like, then I don't do it again," Dorian answers. "But… those things are still real, and still part of me. So I need to know they're there, even if I then make an effort to never see them again."

This much makes sense to him. If you don't know yourself, you know nothing. It's the rest that makes him pause, just for an instant. He's not sure if Bull's ominous tone is for effect, or genuine, but he suspects it's the latter.

But… no. _He needs to know_. And that need overrides anything else.

"I want this," he says, soft but sure. "I want this. _I want this_. And I understand the consequences."

Maker, he hopes he does.

"You can put only three things out of bounds, and I will respect them… this time, and only this time is guaranteed. Think closely what you want those to be." Bull knows he could easily not have this list, but… he feels, right now, it's important. 

"The minute you tell me the third thing, you surrender all control for the rest of this night. No begging, no pleading, no watchword will aid you. There will be no mercy. There will be no remorse. You will be _under my control_. You may well hate me. How you move beyond that, afterwards… is something we will work out, together." 

Three things out of bounds? That surprises Dorian a little. _Trust_ means believing that Bull won't do anything that he genuinely would never want. It means letting him set the rules. So… it's hard to think of any exceptions at first.

But maybe it's not just about acts. Maybe it's also about the things that are said. And… in that case, the answer is much easier to find.

"…if it's three things, then it's three things I'd ask you not to talk about, rather than do," he says. "Don't discuss my family. Don't talk about _sharing_ me with anyone else. And… don't mention the damn dragon."

Not that Bull will be able to properly stop thinking about said dragon. Although, the only thing capable of swaying his mind at all is currently on all fours on the bed in front of him. 

"One question, before we start," he insists. "Do you need us to not fight the dragon?"

Because. Dorian is clearly upset, but there's upset-upset, and there's _oh fuck no_. And he also would never sacrifice Dorian's safety – physical or emotional – and especially not for a sodding dragon. 

He's aware that it is potentially bending his own rules, but if the dragon is a no-go in real life, he needs to know. And he would rather avoid the game they're playing, and come to real terms with that, rather than avoid it in violent sex.

"…no," Dorian answers. "I realise we have to. The distance we'll gain if we take that road is too good to pass up, and if there's a _dragon_ up there, sooner or later it will start swooping down and eating the locals' livestock. Or their children. Or _them_. So… we have to do it. I would just rather forget that for tonight."

Bull rewards the honesty with a scrunch of his fingers through his hair. "Alright. I needed to know that. For the rest of the night, you can forget she exists. There is only you, and I." 

Facing difficult things you know are out of your control, which are inevitable? It makes sense why Dorian is in the mood he's in. Bull figured he'd still agree to the path, but it's just as important to _ask_.

"You will not use magic. If you so much as make a candle fart, I will smack you so hard your teeth could play a piano. You will not use any language but Common, or Qunlat. You will not beg for mercy, or tell me if things are too painful. Or there will be consequences."

Bull places a blindfold over his eyes, and then there's a sudden, lubricated-but-barely prepared pressure at the man's ass. "You will speak when spoken to." The plug starts narrow, as it pushes in past his rim, but there's a sudden flaring that spreads outwards as he moves it in to lock it. 

That makes Dorian whimper just a little, in pleasure as much as anything else, though somehow he keeps it to a minimum. And… he's not sure if he should answer out loud or not, so he opts to give a clear nod. How Bull responds to that will tell him if he's judged correctly or not.

And oh, but this is… _frightening_. Should he be this nervous? He tries to hide it, but he feels as though his racing heartbeat must be audible.

The plug isn't as wide as Bull is, at the flare, but it's still big enough to be a challenge to push the last part inside. It pops in, and then he taps his ass appreciatively. 

Next is something thin and leather, with cold metal between. Bull slips the ring over Dorian's shaft, then uses one finger to poke each ball through in turn. Leather straps, and he's bound his cock, too. 

"You will do your best to please me. And you will face the consequences if you do not." 

All of a sudden, there's fabric wrapping around his chest. From under his armpits, down to his waist. Bull pulls the corset on, and then starts to tug the laces _hard_. He wants movement and breathing both to be hard, and if he tightens this enough… they will be. 

Dorian tries to stay quiet at that, and he's suddenly _very_ glad he's already come once tonight, because otherwise he'd be really worried right now. Well. OK. _Even more_ worried, given how tightly both his cock and body are bound, and the restriction is doing _weird_ things to his head.

Another nod, quick but clear. Definitely not risking saying a word.

"Now… liking pain is nothing surprising. It's just… friction. A glide, a scratch, a tug…" Bull starts to work one hand over his lover's bound cock, sure and knowing strokes that follow the paths he knows his body likes. "And it can be a release. It can unstop the cork in you, or it can unlock further reserves…"

Bull picks up the paddle he'd placed behind Dorian, and slaps him firmly on the plug, nestled in his ass. "But it's more than just the sensation, isn't it, kadan? It's more than the physical you need…"

Before he answers, he starts to paddle him, a rhythmic series of swats that don't elicit pain right off. 

_Fuck_ , but that hurts… but it's _good_ hurt. The kind that races through Dorian's blood like the first taste of wine, making him want _more_. Making him arch, and hold his position better, as if offering as much of his body as possible to the other man's will.

He can't keep quiet at the blows, but he does manage to limit it to incoherent sounds, rather than words. He _needs_ the vocal outlet, even if he's not actually _saying_ anything, and in many ways binding his tongue is far more difficult for him to bear than any other possibility.

He's been asked a question, though, so he realises he _should_ try to answer it. " _Yes_ ," he manages, eventually. "Yes. Far more than the physical."

The paddle starts to thud harder, chasing to make his heart beat faster. Left, to right, to upper thigh, to directly above the plug. Stroking him all the way, urging his body to wake up under his hands. 

"So why now? You said you have nothing to prove to me… is it simply that you had no one to do this with, or… is it that you want _me_ to see, too?" 

Without warning, the next blow hits his shoulderblade from behind. 

Dorian cries out again, rather louder this time, his whole body rocking slightly under the impact and trying to coast through the pain.

"…no one who was even close to good enough. Has to be absolute trust. Otherwise… it either won't work, or it's dangerous in the wrong way. And you… you _see things_. So you'll see what even I might not…"

"You seem to think I haven't already." Which he has. Many, many times. Bull slaps the other shoulder, then it's a flurry of fast, fierce cracks to the sweet spot between buttock and leg, his hand moving from the man's dick to grab his hair and _yank_. "You seem to think there's anything **left**. After all your defensive clothing and manners… you thought that would keep me from the tiny bit that's actually _real_?"

All of a sudden, he's on the bed, and kneeling behind him. One solid forearm bends around his neck, and starts to crushingly bend. 

"Born to lead… to rule… but you don't want it. You don't want it, even though you know you should. You want someone else to do it so you don't have to… why else would you run away with no plan?" 

" _I had no choice_ ," Dorian chokes out. "I couldn't trust anyone else, and I couldn't _not_ act. I was the only one who _could_ do it. Besides… I'm not going to lead or rule anything. That bridge is burned and gone, and the chasm left behind is far too deep. So I figured I should do _something_ with my life that actually made a _difference_."

Plus, he feels guilty about what happened with Gereon. Maybe, if Dorian had handled it better, the man wouldn't have gone off to join the Venatori. But he did.

"So you jumped on a _horse_ and _rode_?" Bull sneers the question out, and then out of the blue, he throws his whole weight down onto him. Rocks over him, like he's the horse. 

"You. Man of means. Man of connections. And all you could manage was a horse. Was I the only one looking for destruction that day?" 

He twists an arm up and between his shoulders, forcing his wrist. "You could have stayed. You could have done more. You _ran_ until you found the first person you thought you could hide behind, didn't you? The first set of shoulders broad enough to pin you down…"

"I would have _caught_ Alexius by now if it wasn't for you and that _fucking templar_ ," Dorian hears himself say, before he can stop his treacherous tongue. "And we wouldn't _be_ in this mess."

He's shaking all over from the pain, from the position; eyes jammed shut under the blindfold and desperately trying to keep breathing. And _very_ aware that he's going to regret what he's just said, even if he does think it's technically true. (Not that he wishes he hadn't met Bull, of course, but if they're going to play What-If, he's going to be honest about it.)

" **And what would you have done when you came face-to-face with him**?" The arm is wrenched harder, and Bull _pushes_ him bodily down. "Because from what I can _see_ , he didn't listen to you last time, and this time he nearly had you _raped and murdered_."

"That was the fucking _templar!_ " Dorian explodes, the pain getting too much for him; cracking through the mental walls he's using to keep himself in check. "Who I'm confident would have gotten himself _lit on fire_ if he'd actually dared bring me in dead!"

Alexius isn't travelling alone, after all, and that explains why he'd only sent a single templar. Multiple ones would have posed a risk to _him_ , but one on his own wouldn't be able to take down several mages at once.

Though… that's a thought for later, because right now Dorian is fighting not to lose control entirely. And… talking about the templar is _not_ helping.

"He. Sent. The. Templar." Bull shoves with each word, punctuating them. He shifts his weight subtly, pressing harder where the corset restricts his breathing. 

"He did that. To. _You_." Someone Dorian had once trusted, above all else. 

Like, Bull is certain, his father. And Alexius likely counts as 'family' to Dorian, but he isn't the one who crossed the line and brought his name into the bed. Dorian is. 

"You'd already have been dead. So you wouldn't have needed the plan you still can't tell me. And I assume your trick of offer your ass to him would have gone down a _treat_. Your bag of tricks running a little empty, is it?"

Just like that, Bull pushes off from the bed and leaves Dorian on top of it. 

" _Our relationship wasn't like that_ ," Dorian hisses, breathless and _completely_ losing it now. "I would have _talked to him_ like a _civilised_ person, and if that didn't work, I would have _killed him_."

It still might come to that. It hurts.

"And what the _fuck_ is all of this supposed to prove?" he goes on. "That you disapprove of my way of doing things? _Big fucking surprise!_ Everyone always does! Why do you think I keep _fucking **leaving?!**_ "

"So, that's your plan, is it? If this gets too much? Kill me, or leave me?" Bull doesn't move from where he stands, letting Dorian rage. "Is that what this is about? You want me to disapprove of you again?"

He grabs the plug, and tugs it out, brusquely. "You want to see who you are, or are you wanting someone to _actually_ change that?" 

Bull knows he's skirting close to a topic that's off-limits, but he's not fully there. 

" _Who do you want to be_?" The plug is slammed back in. " **Who are you, anyway**? What are you trying to prove, and what happens if they don't listen to it?"

" _I don't fucking know!_ " Dorian explodes, when he's stopped howling with shock. "I don't! OK? Happy? I was supposed to be a fucking _magister_ but _that's_ not happening now, so my only options were to drink myself to death or try to make a difference some other way. So forgive me if I'm not as good at this as I should be because _it's not what I was fucking trained for_ , and you of all people should know how hard it is to break out of a _lifetime_ of expectations!"

He's very, very aware that he needs to shut up now, but he can't. The touchpaper has been lit, and the only thing to be done is wait for the debris to settle.

Bull unleashes the belt from the bed, the one still around Dorian's neck. And _yoinks_ him off the bed, onto the floor. He's immediately in his face, the leather coiled around his fist and holding him just up from his knees. 

" **What the fuck do you think I am trying to help you do?** "

He won't use substances, not like the Qun do. Not on Dorian. He won't try to force him into a path that's been picked for him. But Bull has not exactly been trained in this, either, and he's flying by the seat of his pants. 

"This isn't about some light spanking and feather tickling… if you want to _break_ it is going to **hurt**." Which is when he hauls him onto the bed again, on his back this time. Presses the outside of the plug up, hard, into him. "If you want to _break_ you have to face the things you don't want to face." 

The plug is ripped out, and two fingers thrust in, spreading and working him hard, his legs over the edge of the bed and a hand still at his collar. "You think they're right about you. You think no matter what, you will never be what you need to be. _But why the fuck do they get to decide what that is_?"

Somehow the words hurt far, far more than being yanked about like that, though Dorian still feels dizzy when he's slammed on his back; the world going a little hazy for a moment.

"Then _make it hurt!_ " he yells, suddenly pained rather than angry. "Physically, mentally, whatever the _fuck_ you need to do, but don't expect me not to _push back_ with as much strength as I dare, because I am _done_ with letting people tell me what _not to do!_ "

He is just – _just_ – able to keep his magic in check. But he's aware that might not last, and _fuck_ , he needs to make sure it does. Only… the inside of his head is _wild_ now, and sensible thought is rapidly fading to nothing.

"Because I don't _want_ to break you!" Bull pistons from his elbow, and then rips the belt away, to replace it with only his own hand. "I want to _hurt_ you, because you are so _beautiful, powerful, and fierce_." 

His one eye _burns_ with the truth of that, as he tries to play Dorian's body through both pleasure and pain at once. "I don't want to break _you_. I want to break the fucking **cage** they locked you in. I don't _need_ you to submit to me. I do it to give you **peace**. I do it because – just for a moment – you let yourself have something for _you_. Without the guilt, or shame, or any other fucking poison they filled you with." 

Bull pulls his fingers out, then grabs Dorian's hips. A hasty shove of fabric, and then he's tugging him to meet the thrust up, and in. " _Fight me, if you have to. Fight me until you **let** yourself surrender. Because I'm sure as fuck not giving up, either_." 

"You're the one who brought up my whole wretched past!" Dorian exclaims, now not at all sure what he's supposed to do or say or think or… _anything_ , really. Is this part of the plan? Or did he fuck it up again?

"What is it you hate the most? That I let this happen to me, or that I can't just get over it in a heartbeat? Because I can't! All right? The least you could do is not use that as a fucking _weapon!_ I _wanted_ to surrender. I _wanted_ to find peace. But I think _you_ want me to find something else."

"I hate that you _hurt_ and that you _seem to think you **should**_. I hate. That I. **CAN'T. HELP. YOU.**." Bull holds Dorian's waist as he angrily thrusts in. His head drops to touch his lover's, his knees shaking. 

"You'll never find that damn peace of yours if you _think the only way_ is to _break_. You're the one who can't let go, kadan! You're the one who won't let me in!" 

His left hand reaches for Dorian's throat, but it's not a crushing grip, just a soft one. A tilt of his horn, to pluck under the blindfold, and toss it aside. "Admit it. You begged for me to hurt you. You _begged_ for me to rip you open. And now you won't face the fact that it's _you_. **You**. You're the one who wanted me to claw your guts out. _You're_ the one asking me to use the hideous things they taught me to do, _just_ to push you that little bit further, just to have a reason to hate me, _just_ because you can't admit who you are, and what you want! **Let me fucking love you, you Tevinter piece of shit**." 

"I _don't_ hate you!" Dorian throws back, and fuck, but he's cracking again, and he looks like he might cry (again) and this is not going well at all. "I wanted to show you! I wanted to give you _everything!_ I wanted you to see that those things _you're_ so afraid of can be turned to something _good!_ And we play at power-imbalance all the time, so why can't this just be a step up from that?!"

Breathe. Breathe. Don't cry. Or burn the building down. Do _not_.

"…and I _know_ who I am _and_ what I want, for the first time in my _life_ , and that's because of **you** , you dumb Qunari fuck! And if you don't see that then maybe you should give me that paddle from before, so I can hammer some sense into you!"

"Then what the _fuck more_ do you **need**?" Bull grabs Dorian's hands, and slams them into the bed. "Why isn't this enough? Why am _I_ not enough?" 

He can't keep his own control, not around Dorian. He keeps trying, but it – he – _means_ too much. It **matters**. "Why the fuck are you trying to break _me_? What more do you want me to _give_? **If you want to give me everything, _do_**."

"…I'm _trying_ ," Dorian gasps, suddenly quiet again. "I… can't… I keep… fucking up… fucking _everything_ up… I…"

He can't. He can't. He _can't._ And now the tears are coming, silent but plentiful.

"… _libertas_ ," he hears himself say, though from his tone, you'd think he was driving a blade into his own chest. " _ **Libertas**_."

"You agreed it wouldn't count," Bull points out, but his hips stop moving, and he's looking down in open concern. "The point is to _break_. The point is to _keep going_. I told you, you'd hate me. You asked me to _push_."

A careful retreat from his body, and Bull rips the corset from Dorian's chest. All that's left is the ring, and he's not going to touch that.

Instead, he manhandles Dorian over onto his stomach again, and lies over his back. Arms folded under his neck, giving him support as he cuddles him fiercely. "It doesn't need to hurt, kadan. It never needed to hurt. You just have to _let go_. You just have to _know it's okay_. It's okay. It's okay. It's **love** , and it doesn't need to be 'perfect'. Just needs to _be_. You can fuck up. You can fuck up. _I'll still be here_. I'm here. I'm not letting go of you. I won't let you down."

" _Fuck_ ," Dorian gasps, between shuddering, desperate breaths. "Please. Please just make it hurt until I can't feel anything else…"

And _there's_ his self-destructive side, making its way to the fore where it can do the most damage. Though he's confident, even as he speaks, that Bull will do no such thing, but that just makes it worse, and he wants… something. _Something_. Something to smash him out of the fucking nightmare that is living inside his own head.

" _No_." Bull might be overly-emotional, and compromised, but he takes his role as seriously as it is possible to do. He is here to care for his kadan, and that's that. It means saying _no_. It means reminding him there's more than one way to fall to pieces.

The arms around him cuddle tighter, and chapped lips graze over his shoulder. "No. I won't let you hide from this. I promised you. I'll go all the way with you." 

With care, he tilts Dorian's hips just enough that he can penetrate him again. This time it's slow, measured, controlled. This time it's steady, and makes his breath catch. "I love you. I fucking. _Love_ you. I'm going to help you. I'm going to _show_ you." 

More kisses, but he knows Dorian can't escape from under him, not without cheating. He rolls their bodies together, and moans quietly. "Surrender, kadan. _Yield_. You are **safe**. You are safe. I will protect you, when you can't protect yourself. I _love_ you."

Dorian's mind is lost. " _No_ ," he gasps. "Stop being so _decent_. Just _fucking make it hurt_."

Pain. Harshness. Anything. Anything to smash these feelings out of him. Because they're _in him_ now, and they won't go, and it's like when he gets the urge to drink _really_ excessively, only _worse_.

"I _am_. I am. You're hiding in your body, where the pain can make your mind stop. But you need to feel _that_ pain. You need to feel your heart." Bull has him pinned, and he's not going to budge. Not now, not ever. 

Gentle fingers over his side, over his cheek, over his upper arm. Bull breathes in his hair, and feels it catch in his throat some more. "Kadan. Can't you see how you torture _me_?" 

Torture? He wants to talk about torture? This is torture, right now, and Dorian can't stand it, and he doesn't know what to do.

" _Then make me stop,_ " he tries to growl, though his tone is less growl and more 'plea', and very, very desperate.

Bull uses two fingers to turn his head, and places the lightest of kisses to his lips. Sweet, like the first, shy kiss of a newly-adult. "Can't you understand the kindest lie we ever tell ourselves? We pretend that others can control us. In reality… only we can. If someone else does, we _let_ them." 

Back, just enough to meet his eyes. " _Veata_." 

… _shit_.

That hurts Dorian like a knife to the heart. He drops his head, the fight just falling out of him as though the energy has been withdrawn from his body all at once. He tries to find the right words to say, _any_ words to say, and then he can't… and he can't…

"…I'm sorry…" he whispers. "I told you this would happen… I…"

He's convinced this is it. Convinced this is when he gets thrown out the door. Hopefully with enough clothing that he can go back downstairs and drink himself into unconsciousness.

Bull's eye is wet, his throat swallowing past the pain. "And I told you… _I'm not giving up on you_. And I won't let you destroy us. **Kadan**. When will you trust me? Trust _us_? I will tell you every day until you understand. I love you. _You're it for me_. Even when you break my heart in two. You. Cannot. Push. Me. Away."

"I _do_ trust you," Dorian insists, wretchedly. "I wanted to show you… but I'm… this… it's…"

The words aren't working, and that's _frustrating_ , though it's clear the frustration is all with himself now.

"…I'm sorry," he says again. "I'm _sorry_. Please… just… _forgive me_ … I…"

"There is nothing to forgive, kadan. I **love** you. That means _all_ of you. Even the bits I might not approve of… they are _you_." Bull brushes fingers through his mage's hair. 

"It's me you should be forgiving. I can't… give you what you seem to need. Not yet, anyway. But it doesn't mean I'll stop trying to pull the thorns from your heart, and kiss it better. If it takes forever, I'll keep trying. Until I can help you _truly_ be free." 

"You _are_ what I need," Dorian says. "Please… I… I don't know why I keep fucking this up… just… just tell me I haven't broken everything… I… _please_."

Everything has washed out of him now, and all he feels is _fear_.

"Shhh, shhh, no. Kadan, my heart, my all. Nothing is broken. Nothing is broken. Shhh." Bull rocks him, very gently. "You… see what you are doing, my crazy little firecracker? You see what it is you need?" 

Bull squeezes him, firmly. "You say _you_ want to break. But all you keep trying to do is break _this_. It isn't you that you need to see if it will 'take' it… it's **us**." Another squeeze. "No matter how hard you try… _we won't break_. We won't. We. Won't." 

"…I'm sorry," Dorian whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm not… I didn't… I don't want to do this without you… I _can't_ do this without you."

He chokes back a sob, trying – very hesitantly – to curl in a little more. Not quite able to voice what he needs, but hoping it's still clear.

Bull kisses the back of his neck. "You never have to do this alone. You have me. You have me forever. I'm with you, no matter what. Hand in hand."

One of said hands strokes up and over his side. "Kadan. I should… very much like to make love to you, if you would enjoy it, too. I – I _need_ you. Not just in my bed, and my arms… but I _need_ you. And I need to _show_ you."

" _Yes_ ," Dorian gasps, not so much needy as _wanting_ , which is less a physical impulse and more a very deliberate choice. "Please. I'm yours. All of me is yours. Even the fucked-up bits. Even the bits you wish weren't there. Please. Please."

Bull rolls onto his back, pulling Dorian along with him, so he's belly-up to the ceiling. His hands gently ease over him, making sure he's as comfortable as he can make him, and touching everywhere they can reach. 

"You don't need to hide them from me. I have my fucked-up bits, too. But loving you means all of you, and means all of me." 

He runs a finger over Dorian's throat, from under the chin to down between his collarbones. No threat, just contact. Runs the other over his belly, and nudges the back of his hand against his still-bound cock. "I see you. I _see_ you. And I **choose** you. I choose to take all of you. You don't need to hide, or boast, or shield any more. I _see_ you. I know you. And you are – and always will be – **mine**."

A shunt of his hips, burying himself deep inside his lover's body, and then hiding his face in his neck to muffle the broken little grunt. 

" _Please_ ," Dorian breathes again, utterly lost, but following the other man's every movement, every word, like the one point of light in the darkness. "I need you. I _need_ you. I just… don't know how to do this, and I don't _like_ not knowing, and I just need not to fuck this up because you're in my _blood_ now and I don't know how I'd live without you."

"There is nothing to know, nothing you don't already know." Bull finds Dorian's left hand in his own, clasps it, and lifts to press them both into the man's chest above his heart. "You simply need to _trust_. And it'll be harder some days than others. But every time you push… I'll push back. Every time you scream, I'll let you hit me until you're ready to be held…"

His legs brace, so he can lift at the waist, shifting the angle subtly, not chasing anything more intense just yet. He doesn't need to, not when the emotions run so high. 

"Did you hear yourself, before? Did you even hear what you said?" He strokes between the loops around Dorian's cock. "You told me you know what you want. You told me you know who you are. And you told me you wouldn't let anyone try to take that from you, not any more." Kisses. Teasing touches, and his chest working under the weight of him. "You won't break, kadan. Your heart is forged in the hottest fires. You won't break, the world will need to break to accept you. The only things that will shatter are those bonds they put around you, the pain, hate, lies… you are so wonderfully strong, kadan. And you begin to see that, and not the visor they used to train your sight away from it. It is my _honour_ to help you. Not a burden. Not a pain. You _can't_ 'fuck this up'. My heart is as strong as yours."

Dorian is trying not to cry again, now. He never used to be this emotional. Well, OK, he's _always_ been _very_ emotional, but it was usually the bigger, louder emotions: joy, or rage, rather than something so much softer, and deeper. But this _is_ deeper, and maybe that's a good thing at heart, because he's dealing with what's under the surface, rather than just the illusions on top.

He's very good at projecting the image he wants the world to see. The trouble is, it's far too easy to fool himself as well.

Part of him still wants to scream. To demand why it's seemingly so easy for Bull to forgive him, why he can so quickly go back to gentleness and praise, when Dorian is convinced he doesn't deserve any of it. And… the only answer he can find is that _this is what love is_ , which is why it feels so foreign to him.

Because he's never had it before.

"I love you," he gasps, and the words hurt, but it's good hurt. "I love you."

"I know." Another kiss, as Bull unfastens the rings, slides off the restraints, and coils a warm, sure hand around Dorian's shaft. "I know. I love you, too." 

He keeps the coupling deep and slow, stretching out each time they join and the way he drags his hand. Cheek against cheek, still holding his hand to his heart. 

Bull wants so, so badly to help. It crackles through his veins, swells in his bone marrow. Everything desperate to make the pain _work_ , and it's all there, in the current sharpening his voice. "I will always forgive you. Always chase you. Always hold you. I will always tell you when it's _wrong_ , and then fight to get us back to _right_. And even if you doubt, or need this – or anything – every single night… if it's what it takes to love you, then it's what I'll do. **You** are what matters. And giving you that place to let go, to stop hurting… **You** are all I need. _Let me love you, kadan. Let me be your amatus, whatever that means_."

"It means _this_ ," Dorian manages, arching up into that hand now, as the physical need starts to get stronger. "It means… somehow still being here even when I'm acting as though you're just like everyone else, rather than… than _you_."

Because Bull _is_ different. Even if they weren't in love, he'd still be like no one Dorian has ever met before. The fact that they _are_ in love just makes it all the stronger, because it means he sees things Bull wouldn't share with just an acquaintance, or friend.

"But… but you must need more than just me… you must need me to _be_ something or even simply _do_ something, and I want… I want to give you what you give me but apparently I don't know how…"

Bull's hand tightens. "Then I need to tell you… you already _do_. Every time I – every time I see the shadows are gone from your face… every time I hear you sigh, and it's happy, not hurt… every time you curl in that bit closer in your sleep, and I hear you mumble and it's happy…"

His voice catches, but he forces himself to keep going. "…then I know… then I know… who _I_ am. What _I_ want. I know… that it's you. That… that I **am** free. Free from the Qun, free from what they honed me into… I know that I can be happy. I know that I can make _you_ happy… I know I'm… I'm not _Hissrad_ , not a liar, made only to slice through the world for an idea I don't believe in… I know I – I can want – can **have** … you asleep in my arms. Standing hand in hand watching the tides kiss Minrathous' coastline… I know I am who I always wanted to be… I know it's not wrong…"

Bull's pace falters, a shake down his spine and a jostle faster that he's trying to coast out and control. "Y-your smile when you th-think no one is looking… you laughing with Krem… the way I feel when I imagine growing old with you… the way your sharp tongue shreds me wide open… the thought of feeding you the finest pastries, and f-fighting with you by m-my side… I – I just want… _us_. All those things we say… kadan, I swear. That's all. That's all. That's everything I ever want-ted but I… it wasn't… I couldn't… it could only **be** you…"

" _Fuck_ ," Dorian gasps, feeling as though the world has just tipped sideways. "Fuck… I… **that**. All of that. Yes. _Please_. I want to give you that. I want to _be_ that, with you, forever, and to the Void with _anyone_ who tries to stop us."

His head drops back more, trying to open himself as much as possible, to _give_ as much as possible, even as his body shakes as the pleasure builds more and more.

"I love you. You're everything. Everything I want. Everything I never thought I'd have. And I swear… I will get this right in my head. Somehow. I will. _For you_."

"I know you will… I know you will." Bull pulls his heels up, knees bending, bracing. "I'll forgive you, if you forgive me. I don't need _perfect_. I need **you**."

He pushes Dorian's hand flat, then bends his own arm so it rests along his torso, from elbow above navel to fingers near throat. Dainty little touches, with no pressure as the other hand works and works, squeezing, twisting, loving the way it makes his body tense and clench around him. "Hold my horns, kadan. Move with me. I _need_ this… I need you so much… please!" 

Dorian arches back at once, reaching to hold Bull's horns near the base, where it's easiest to get a good grip, and where he can best use it as leverage to move in time with the other man's thrusts. He knows he won't last much longer, but he wants to hold on as long as he can; wants to make this _good_ , wants to… somehow… make up for how much of a mess he is.

"You have me," he cries out, trying to push down as Bull thrusts up, to couple them as deeply as possible. "You've had me from the moment we met. I'm yours. I'm _yours_."

"Please… not… don't… blow out, just… a little magic… for _both_ of us… I hate you not being free…" Bull moves harder, as much as the position allows, using all the strength he has to thrust. "Please… be _you_. Be all of you. Dorian… I'm--"

So close that he can nearly taste it, bubbling under the surface, an explosion waiting to happen. He grips his lover's shoulder, slamming him deeper into him, a fractured cry of hunger. " _ **Tal-viddasala, tal-kadan**_. Show me who we are."

Dorian can do that. Of course he can. If he paces himself, he can easily make it so he _never_ blows himself out. The trouble is, he can also easily get carried away.

But right now, he's too desperate to please, to get things right, to be at risk of that.

"I'm free," he whispers. "I promise. See…"

He lets go of Bull's horns and holds out his arms – because, even now, he can't suppress his need for the _dramatic_ – and the air above them fills with glittering sparks of light, hued in blue-green and pink, flickering slowly like fireflies on a late summer's evening.

And then, the light not fading, Dorian lowers his arms to rest behind him, on Bull's sides. But he doesn't do anything else just yet.

"Do you want me to push?" he asks, softly. Needing to be _sure_. "I can do it… if that's how you want to finish this."

Beneath him, Bull gasps very quietly, entranced by the show, because he knows it's what Dorian wants to see, and also be seen. And that is a gift in and of itself. 

"I want it to be all of us," Bull answers, mirroring his tone. "All of me. All of you… together. I'm not afraid, not of your magic, _or_ your demons, or your past… come with me, kadan. Break the world, not us." 

"All right, amatus," Dorian breathes, strangely fervent now. "All right…"

He closes his eyes. He doesn't _need_ to close his eyes, but it feels appropriate somehow. And then he gives a sudden, sharp _push_ with his mana, flooding them both with sensation, and bliss, and more than enough to kick them over the edge together.

He _howls_ , unmade and re-made, as completion rips through him; the magic coupled with the extensive physical stimulation making his climax border on painful, but in the very, very best way. And when it all finally fades, he's left gasping, and shaking, and choking back another wave of emotion as the lights above them flicker slowly to nothing.

They don't _need_ the magic to finish, but why deprive yourself of something so beautiful, and so intrinsic? Bull sees no reason to turn away from happiness, and it always feels that little bit more… _intimate_ , unique, and personal. His arm around Dorian's waist, the other stroking and stroking through every tremor and pulse. He feels his mate's body clench and tense, and it seems as though it's made to work through the answering pulse in his own. 

It's just… he knows that it wouldn't even begin to feel like this, with some other mage. It just wouldn't. It's Dorian, and only him, and Bull keeps him pinned down on his lap as the last shockwaves peter out. As the ignition flame dies, and they're left with the glowing embers. Warm, with light trailed around the edges, and the scent of the incandescence that went before. 

Bull's knees bend, and he rolls them to one side where he can curl around him, spooning and blanketing him with his size, breathlessly fighting against the dizziness left behind.

" _Kadan_." If only it said more. If only it meant more. "I love you." If only there were deeper words. He hasn't got them, so he cuddles him fiercely instead. I love you, I love you, I hope this is what you needed. I love you. Anything you need. Anything. Instead, all he can do is use his strong arms to bundle him up as tightly as he dares. 

Oh, but that's so good. Dorian's starting to think he likes being held as much as he likes being fucked blind. It's a different kind of feeling, sure, but the intensity of his love for it is no less.

Because it reminds him… it reminds him that he's _wanted_. That the physical alone isn't enough to explain why he's here. And that still feels fresh and new and wonderful every time he remembers it.

Even more so right now. He knows he fucked up before. And… he's not going to mention it, but the guilt still prickles at him, and so the embrace is all the more soothing.

" _Amatus_ ," he whispers. "I love you too. So very much."

"Thank you." Bull lifts one leg over the other's, and tucks him that little bit tighter in. "Thank you… for trusting me. For sharing this with me. I know… just how much it means."

Not just the magic. Not just the sex. The harder parts. The ugly, hurting parts. The parts that want to be seen, to be understood. To be witnessed, accepted… helped. Bull plays his fingers and thumb over Dorian's chin, his cheek. Under the scruff, over the soft places. 

"I just hope… it becomes easier, in time. That we find how to get here, sooner. But getting here at all… that's a miracle it's worth any fight to achieve. And… you should know how proud I am of you. Not many can face what's inside of themselves, not and avoid madness. You are so _very, very_ strong, even if you don't feel it. I know. I know. And I will tell you so."

"I'm sorry for the pain I caused you," Dorian says, already breaking his own rule not to mention it. "And I'm grateful for your… patience. I suppose I'm not as sure of myself as I like to think, at least when it comes to… to certain aspects of my past."

He curls in tighter. "But you're my future. And if I'm sure of nothing else, I'm sure of that."

"You never need to apologise to me, but if it helps you to hear that I forgive you, I do. I do. You _aren't_ a pain. You're my Dorian. And any pain you feel, I feel… so of course I want to help you." Bull catches a strand of hair, and coils it around his finger. 

"I told you. It's _worth_ it. Worth it, to lighten the weight in your heart. And for all those days we have ahead. With pastries, and bandits, and scenic views, and your water garden, and all the scandals we'll cause and all the days you'll forget why you ever worried, or what you ever thought could go wrong…" He pecks lightly at the edge of Dorian's lips. 

"It will get easier. You know… I'm not there myself, either, yet. But every day with you, without the Qun… it gets easier to be happy. And for every time you feel upset that you're hurting, and think it's your fault… remember I'm just as sure it's mine for not helping you faster. So either we're both 'to blame', or neither of us are."

"How are you this amazing?" Dorian whispers; very, very touched by the words. Trying – slowly but surely – to accept that he deserves them. "I may be able to fill the air with lights, but you fill my heart with them, and that… that's a magic even I can't quite hope to touch."

But poetic, it seems, he can do. Maybe it's overblown, but nothing else is _big enough_ to convey how he feels, and he does so need to express himself fully.

"Because you _make_ me. Because… you let me. I was never this, before I met you. All you see… it's yourself reflected back, or… or me changed, by your blood dropped into mine." Bull is certain of that, and it shows. 

He isn't who he was. Maybe who he should have been, but he's only there, now, because of the man currently snuggled in his embrace. "You only get what you truly deserve, kadan. When things are not right… they do not last. You've seen that. You wish they would, but they don't. What's true, what's real… cannot be broken apart. It only gets stronger with each day." 

"Maybe we both needed a sharp kick in the right direction," Dorian muses. "But it seems to have worked. And… you're right. We are stronger together. And we can do what would have been impossible alone."

He smiles, if only to himself. "Maybe you _have_ changed me," he adds, softly. "If only to accept who I was all along."

Bull finds Dorian's hand, and lifts it to his lips, to kiss. "I prefer to see it as mutual. Catalysing, not forcing. Giving you the space to become who you are… an insanely brave – if occasionally reckless – do-gooding sex-fiend… who wants it all. The quiet life, the high society scandal, the foot rubs and the good fights… why. You just want _everything_. And why shouldn't you?"

He's grinning, though. Because he wants the same things. "I went into the wilds to find a fight I couldn't win. Instead, I found something worth keep fighting for… I met my match. I met my equal. I met **you**." 

"And together… we _will_ have it all," Dorian says. "Getting there might be a challenge, but in the end… we will. And that's because we were _both_ what the other was looking for."

And then he laughs just a little. "I was going to insist I'm not a sex-fiend, but… I don't think you'd be convinced…"

"Kadan. I'm a fucking _Qunari_. We have more stamina – and I say this with no real intention of bragging – but we **do**. We last longer, and go harder… and deeper… and you _still_ have me nearly crippled, every single night. You drive me _wild_ … and **then** you have somehow mastered the ability of keeping that going so long, and often, that I'm convinced you have an army of sex-spirits you secretly call on…"

Bull bends his knees, and scrunches him up. "You're actually a demon. A good one, but a demon. There's no other explanation for it."

"…ah, you've finally discovered my secret identity!" Dorian exclaims, and it says a lot that he can joke about this now, because demonic possession is serious, serious business. "All this time, I've been inciting you to ravish me, but the truth is… _I've_ been ravishing _you_."

The words hide the fact that he's actually blushing a little, though. Because it _is_ nice to be told you're the sexual equal to a _very_ enthusiastic and creative Qunari.

"I knew it. You're a _monster, a beast_ …" Bull's hands go to Dorian's sides, unfairly using both position and strength to tickle him. "You terrible thing: what is it you want? A million orgasms a day? Tell me… I'll torture it out of you!"

"Stop that, you fiend!" Dorian laughs, trying – deliberately ineffectually – to bat him off. "You already know what I want: _everything_. You, your body, your mind, all of you. _Mine_."

"Well… fuck! I guess that's me corrupted forever… all those stories were true… Now I'm enslaved to a Tevinter mage and we're going to be happily married forever… I'm doomed!" Bull starts to sloppily kiss at his neck, and changes from tickles to cuddling again, snickering and fighting the laughter that's making his torso shake. "The whole rest of my life shackled to the most amazing man I ever met… Koslun, you were right! This is the _worst_. I'm going to be so fucking **happy** … it's a fate worse than death, or being enslaved to an Orlesian clothing designer…"

Dorian laughs again (though he also shudders slightly at the thought of being enslaved to an _Orlesian_ clothing designer… Maker, no) and presses back against him.

"My wicked plot is revealed at last! I have seduced you with my magely wiles. Now you have no choice but to spend the rest of our lives having phenomenal sex and epic adventures. And there's _nothing_ you can do about it!"

"Shit. Do I at least get a say in the wedding rings and soft furnishings? Or am I to provide brute force and big dick powers only? I swear… I do know the difference between chartreuse and cyan… at least let me help pick the wines…" Bull knows it's okay, now. A joking Dorian doesn't necessarily mean he's feeling good (the man jokes when he's worried, or angry, or just plain awake), but he can read tones that others can't, or don't try to. And he knows he's relaxing, because he can feel it running through him. 

"…I can also reach things that are really high up… and I once learned how to knit. Krem taught me how to make nug wings… if you want any hideous rugs to give to relatives you hate…?"

"Oh, you get a say," Dorian answers, just having fun with it now, and in many ways this is a necessary release for him too. Not quite as intense as the physical, but still important. "That way I can lull you into a false sense of security. Stop you realising anything is amiss. Though you're not going to have time to take up knitting on account of all the sex and adventures we'll be having. Perhaps you might be able to learn some _transferrable_ skills, however. How do you feel about erotic massage? All that staff-twirling is _murder_ on the shoulders…"

"You think I don't already _know_ how to do that? Kadan! You wound me!" Bull moves, and slams Dorian face-first into the bed. Firmly. Then pushes his hands into Dorian's shoulders, enough to arch up and get his weight where he needs to, to start kneading rather firmly (and, it has to be said, rather skilfully, too).

"If you're going to demand things, at least make it challenging."

"Why?" Dorian says, happily stretching out beneath him. "This way, I get what I want faster. You see? You're completely at the mercy of my every whim!"

Although he's quite delighted to discover that – perhaps unsurprisingly – Bull _is_ very adept at this. And… _oh_ , but that feels _really, really good_ …

"Yeah, but you'll get bored very quickly if I give you everything _right_ away… has to be some grind, some effort… for the big payout…" Bull chases the wriggles and moans, enjoying the pliant, warm, inviting body that lets him work his nicer crafts. 

"Can't give you everything all at once… got to hold some stuff back… wicked things like you are insatiable and mercurial. And I need you to be as addicted to me, as I am to you. If you tired of me… I'd have to walk into the damn sea…" But his tone isn't destructive, or melancholic. It's – if anything – melodramatic. Oh woe is me. And his knuckles push down on a crack, then his fingers splay over the area, leaking heat into wrought muscles. "…you need this doing much more regularly than you've been doing, you know." That part is sincere, as he makes a note to assist more often. 

"I do? I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," Dorian muses. "It is _hard_ to get a decent massage when you're traipsing around the countryside being assaulted and ravished and fighting bandits. Good thing I have you now, and your… _ohyesrightthere_ …impressively-skilled hands…"

"But don't you worry," he adds, because even in play it needs to be said. "I'm addicted to you. I don't think there's the slightest risk of me getting tired of you in the next forever… especially if you keep doing _that_ …"

Bull nips very lightly at an earlobe, and works the needed place, making a mental note of where Dorian likes it best. "Then… just promise me you'll tell me, if you ever do. Because. Maybe you don't want my atrocious rugs and hideous woollen scarves… but you can teach an old Qunari new tricks…"

Which is when his hands slide lower, and he sits up (still buried inside him, and swallowing at the way the move makes his whole insides quiver), only to put his hands over the small of Dorian's back and work the muscles there. "…admittedly this is more therapeutic than erotic. But there's still a decent slog of oil in the bottle if you aren't too tired?" 

" _Oh_ ," Dorian gasps at that, because it really does feel far too good. "Mmmmm. I'm not too tired. Not for more of _you_."

Plus, the other man is soothing more than just physical twinges with those skilled hands of his. And that's helping more than Dorian expected. Sometimes, he just needs a quietly unpretentious reminder that he's worth the effort. (Other times he needs a major display of value and affection, it's true. But this is more than enough right now).

"Sex. Fiend. Or just fiend. Pleasure fiend. Is there such a thing as a happiness demon? Because that's what you are." Bull reaches for the bottle, and pours most into his hand, curling his fingers closed to warm it up enough before he turns his palm and dribbles it down over the line of Dorian's spine. 

Then, hands rubbed together to slicken them, he places them just over his ass. Thumbs in the crease, then dragged up and up to his shoulders. The oil eases the way much more nicely, and he purrs at the feel of it, enjoying the darker, wetter skin. "…so fucking beautiful…"

"Only me," Dorian murmurs, absolutely _sinking_ in bliss now. "I'm one of a kind. That shouldn't surprise you. When have you ever met anyone else like me..?"

Possibly for the best. If there was more than one of him, the world would not be safe.

"…mmmmm yes, like that… just like that… _fuck_ , you're good at this…"

Bull shouldn't let that affect him, not quite as much as it does, but hearing that tone after the… after what's gone before? He grabs hold of shoulders, and bites the back of his neck, muffling the sound to hide some of it. It's right down his own spine, sinking somewhere under his tailbone, and gripping at his heart tight enough to make it skip. 

Maybe it's just the juxtaposition. Or maybe it's hitting something he didn't know was quite so raw, but it… clicks, and it has him working all the harder. All his focus, all his intent pushed into the way his hands glide and knead. 

"Never," he whispers. "Never will again." Not does he want to, he found the one he needs. "Tell me no… or I'm going to need to ravish you again. Which – of course – was your wicked plan all along…" 

"Of course it was," Dorian replies, with an audible smile. "I may be a devious fiend, but I'm easy to predict if you try. And when has telling you _no_ ever made a difference? You _like_ it when I tell you no. You find it motivational."

This is said almost matter-of-factly, mostly to see how Bull will respond to it. And because it's fun. And… fun helps.

"Well, we already established that 'no' means 'please', and 'fuck no' means 'please harder'… Tevene is such a tricky language…" Bull rolls his hips, finding the place where it's just the right side of not too much. "So far, you haven't snapped my horns off… so I'm taking it that I speak 'Dorian' just fine."

He slips one thumb where he can tease the stretched rim, currently fluttering around where they join, and the other hand goes back to curl around the back of his neck, this time working the muscles and not any promise-threat. (Yet.) 

"Maybe this time I'll fuck you faster than you could get your magic out… right at the end… a race to see who gets their way first…"

"Amatus, darling, my magic is nigh-on instantaneous," Dorian drawls, easily. "It wouldn't be a fair fight. Besides, I'm conserving my strength so that I can save you from getting your fool ass set on fire by that bloody dragon."

His tone is light enough, though, and it's clear he's only teasing.

"Maybe I _like_ the idea of my mage future-husband kicking ass and saving me, hmm? You ever thought of that?" Bull grabs a pillow, hoisting Dorian up enough to push it under his ribs and give him room to reach around, drawing a quick jerk over his dick then moving back to gripping both shoulders. 

"It would be. If I had you _distracted_ enough. You'd forget to fire off… and 'fire off' instead…" Plus, talking smack with your intended is fun. "And awww, you're worried about me. That's so _cute_."

"Naturally I'm worried about you. You're the sort of person who thinks it's a good idea to _purposefully_ go where there's a _dragon_. So you can _fight it_. And if you're going to go gallivanting off on these insane adventures, you need someone sensible backing you up. Someone who can also throw fireballs and heal your inevitable injuries."

A beat. "And in lieu of someone sensible, you have me. But that's OK. I'm much more fun."

And then he laughs. "That will be _some_ distraction, even for you. Maybe I _should_ take you up on it…"

"I thought I was taking _you_ up?" Bull slips his arms under Dorian's armpits, up to clasp the fingers behind his neck, and then sit back so he's dropped down and all but helpless on his lap. 

The fact that Dorian doesn't mind talking about the dragon again hasn't slipped past Bull, but he's far too considerate to mention that. When he's busy showing off what he can do, anyway. 

"Do you know just how _horny_ a really good fight can make me? And with you on my side… I can take down pretty much _anything_. Oh, kadan… I'd punch down that damn Darkspawn Magister and then I'd _fuck you for a month_ only stopping for ale and cheese…" 

" _Ohh_ ," Dorian groans, as he's impaled again like that. "F-fuck… yes… and _of course_ I know… I've seen what you're like. And I'm expecting you to make this _madness_ worth my while with some of that energy…"

He rolls his hips backwards, loving the way this feels, but also very much wanting to be _taken_ hard and fast and _now_.

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow… you're gonna wish there were dragons every other day… every other… because you wouldn't keep up if it was _every_ day…" Bull sounds utterly ravenous, and it shows in his tone as he uses Dorian like he weighs nothing, rising up to meet him and sinking his teeth into the column of his throat.

Bull isn't in a rush, not when the way Dorian falls down to meet him feels so good. He's already high, imagining the next night, and he's enjoying using his lover just for his own satisfaction for a while. 

"I most certainly am _not_ going to wish there were dragons every other day," Dorian replies, sounding somewhat breathless. "But if you try very hard, maybe you'll convince me to let you do it again in the future."

Not that running into dragons is exactly _commonplace_. And they're hardly going to end up traipsing round the south looking for the damn things…

"Mmmm… fuck, but I'll screw the magic right _out_ of you… you ever forget your own name?" Then Bull laughs. "Pity I can't give you mine. Didn't really pick it for sharing."

"Well _you've_ made me forget my name more than once," Dorian replies. "And all the languages I know. Which is quite an achievement."

Bull's laugh rumbles through them both, and he stakes Dorian down enough that he can crawl up to the headboard and push him against it until he's trapped. That means he can wrap an arm around his waist, and the other push his head back on Bull's shoulder so he can gaze down at him as they move. 

"You never seem to forget 'yes', 'fuck' and 'please', though. Says something that it sticks longer than your name – or mine…" His eye sharpens. "If I tell you not to come, how many times you reckon I can make you unable to comply?"

"W-why don't you find out?" Dorian manages, the movement sending a heady sensation running right through his body, and leaving him suddenly aware of how vulnerable he is right now. And oh, he likes that.

"Besides, 'yes', 'fuck' and 'please' are the most useful words when one is being ravaged. Unless you pretend you want it to stop, of course, in which 'no' and 'mercy' can be substituted for the first two…"

"You are the _least_ convincing sex-fiend in the whole of Thedas, kadan. Put your hands on the headboard where I can see them…" Bull reaches between Dorian's legs, scrunching and tugging at his balls. "If you come… I'll be forced to buy and make you wear an Orlesian item of clothing for every single time…" 

No point in making it too much fun for him, after all. "Do you know the latest fashion in collars? Ruffs? If you're really, really bad… I'll have to substitute your entire wardrobe…"

" _Monster_ ," Dorian gasps, managing to sound suitably affronted. "I should sooner go _naked_."

He would, too. There's fashion, and then there's _Orlais_. Plus, he looks good naked. Really the only problem would be that he's currently in the south, and the south is too cold for naked.

Bull twists, tugs, and then drags a thumbnail underneath his prick to the tip. "I'll remind you that you said that, when your balls are as shrivelled as a dwarf's tea-cake."

The thing about being very good at knowing anatomy is you can use it any way you want. For instance, you can aim a blow that severs multiple limbs in one swoop. You can land a blunt force blow somewhere that incapacitates without injury. And you can pinch right under the head of a prick while you're thumbing a nipple at just the right angle, before biting at an upper arm that's grabbing the headboard and letting your hips go wild. 

It's a talent he's proud of, taking people apart. It just so happens this is the best use of said talent. 

" _Fuck!_ " Dorian cries out (because his specialist skill is _oversharing_ ). "Yes. _Please_."

There's a smirk on his face, though it's already a very wrecked one, and keeping still is not easy when he isn't – technically – restrained. He compensates by gripping the headboard hard enough to hurt his own fingers, trying to concentrate on _not_ going to pieces immediately. Which is harder than it seemed before he started.

Another laugh, and saliva-slick lips and nibbling teeth graze up Dorian's arm. "…that was kind of the plan, kadan. And my point proven again…"

He lifts from his nipple, only to scratch firmly down his side… grab a handful of buttock, release, and then _slap_ his taut thigh so hard it wobbles. He grips where he took hold, making a tight fist around him, and yanks that leg wider to force Dorian's back to arch and let him in that bit deeper. "Oh, you're gonna come. You're gonna come, and I'll put the most _hideous_ boots on your feet… you won't be able to say no… and your ass will still beg for more, even though it's so raw it'd be mooing if it was a steak…"

"I did _not_ consent to that," Dorian gasps, his whole body shaking now. "But I _will_ go naked… although you'll have to carry me again as I'm not _riding_ like that…"

Mmmm. Yes. It actually sounds quite nice… Dorian, no.

"Besides… anyone will come eventually, if you f-fuck them hard enough. You should have specified a time limit. And… _oh_ … told me what happens if I win…"

"There is no winning. _I_ win. I tell you not to come. You come. I win." Bull lets go of his cock, only to grab both knees. He pulls them up and around, so there's only where they join, where his hands hold his legs, and where Dorian grips the headboard. Everything else is wide, wide open. 

"I fuck you. You come. I fuck you some more. You come some more. I fuck you, you cry, you beg me to stop… I fuck you so full you're desperate for me to get out so it has somewhere to go…" The power-high in his voice is _electric_. "Your balls dry, and I touch you again, and you can _feel_ your body trying to respond, but it just _aches_ and pushes against the air… and every time I tell you that you're _wrong_ , you come again and you forget how you tell where one climax started and the next began…" 

Such a sweet feeling, when Dorian's control starts to waver. "Keep you on my cock while we ride, keeping me warm… naked except for the collar around your dick and throat, and the soft furs you're draped in, so no one sees where my hands touch you as we ride…" 

Dorian drops his head back, moaning in delight and clearly _right_ out of it now. "T-that… please, yes… that… I'm _yours_ , all yours, I want to be _all_ you need… want you to wreck me… want to forget _everything_ except how much I love and need you…"

He's shaking from head to toe, the waves of pleasure building in him beginning to become more than he can process; his body suddenly _craving_ the sense of being _owned_ by this powerhouse of a man.

"Still think you can win a race, kadan? _Don't. Come_." The two words are said with all the power Bull can manage, all the authority and certainty. Not because he wants to deprive him, but because he knows the transgressive thrill and fear, the awareness of his disobedience and loss of control… these will kick Dorian's mind three countries left of his body.

The bed groans and shakes as Bull uses his not-inconsiderable strength. He's yanking those knees, angling up and in, as fast and hard as he dares. And he's intent on not stopping until Dorian falls over the edge. " _I'll take everything you have and still demand more_." 

"I… I c-can't… I… fuck… _fuck_ … you're going to… to…"

It's too much now. Far too much. Especially considering Dorian is still hypersensitive from earlier, and more than a little emotionally wrung-out. He bites his lip, and tries to arch into a position that will take just enough of the edge off… but it isn't enough, it _isn't_ enough, and he can't… he _can't_ …

…and he comes with a strangled, desperate cry, howling in bliss and terror; his whole body nigh-on thrashing as he falls to pieces.

"I'm. Not. Done. With. You." Bull is _ecstatic_ with the sounds, with the man he's buried balls-deep in writhing on his cock. He has to bite the inside of his mouth, fighting the rising tide of his arousal, wanting to coast it out. 

He walks backwards – still holding those knees – so Dorian's tugged away from the bars and then Bull plants one foot and shoves a hand between the mage's shoulders, forcing him to drop head-first, and ass-up. 

The new angle gives him more to work with, and he doesn't need to hold Dorian's weight, so he reaches around and jerks his already-spent cock, ignoring any protest that it's too much. Ignoring pretty much everything but the voice inside that drives him to _take_ and _take_ and **take**.

"Everyone will know. Everyone will know that you're my greedy little bitch, that you _beg_ for my dick… that I split you in half and you _thank_ me… everyone will know you hang off every word I say, and you beg me to plough you through the bed, through the floor… that no matter how many times I make you come, it'll never be enough… all day, every day, remembering how it feels when I'm inside you, aching until you're full again… wishing I'd let you come, and come, and come…"

"…p-please…" Dorian gasps, face-down on the bed and well-aware that he's _utterly_ caught, even without a single restraint on him. "Please… I'm yours… _mercy_ … you win…"

He knows it won't be enough, though. That won't stop him pleading, because he _is_ desperate now; wrung-out and exhausted and rapidly losing his mind under the onslaught. His whole body shakes with every thrust, trying to push deeper into the mattress; trying to work out how to keep _taking_ when he's so very sure he can't.

" _I'll always win, when you want to lose_." Bull knows where to push, where to press, and he's merciless in his onslaught. He still remembers they agreed there was no 'no', not tonight, and Dorian _did_ want pushing beyond every limit he had. 

So there's no guilt at all when he drops his feet off the bed to the floor, and simply holds onto Dorian's hips and keeps him precisely where he needs him, chasing the twitches, shudders, and rough and soft places he presses into. "Don't. You. Fucking. **Come**." His words at complete odds with the way he's using his body, skirting over the edge of his own climax, trying to give Dorian one last round before he's done, too. "Obey me." Don't. 

" _Please!_ " Dorian howls, thumping his hands against the bed in an attempt to ground some of the feeling. _Any_ of the feeling. Every thrust is perfect agony now: his over-wrought, over-stimulated body pushed to the limits of what it can handle before his mind utterly blacks-out.

Which it will. He can feel himself going. And still his treacherous cock won't stop _responding_ , and even though he can't work out how there's anything left in him, he knows he'll fall apart again before long.

"…please," he begs, broken and desperate and _under_. "Please… _mercy_ … I'll give you _anything_ … please… _please_ … f-fuck… I… **fuck**!"

And somehow he falls again, crying out in a mixture of bliss and agony, his body shaking in a rictus of pleasure that's short and sharp and far from sweet. It doesn't last as long as the one before, but somehow it leaves him even more washed-out and _trembling_ from head to toe.

That's so, so good. Bull can taste it all down his throat, and he's dizzy with the cut of it. Dorian's body bucks and scrambles, working his cock, making it hard for him to keep his focus. But he will. Because he must. Even though he's pretty sure he's close to knowing how to do magic himself, with how giddy his mind is.

"One more. Both of us. When I come, come with me, kadan. If you don't make it happen, _I_ will, and I can't promise you'll enjoy it."

He grabs both of Dorian's arms, twisting them up and between his shoulders, using them for purchase as his juddering, broken thrusts melt into something sweeter and liquid and floating and aching all at once. He's spilling, bending his lover nearly in half as he does, using him for all he's worth and bellowing in soul-deep satisfaction. 

Dorian just _howls_ from the depths of his chest, totally lost, totally helpless; surging on the other man's will and completely out of control. He feels Bull come, but there's nothing left in him, nothing at all, and the ultimate irony is that after having come twice when he's been told not to, he now _can't_ when he needs to.

Or maybe it's the dark part of his soul, wondering what Bull means by 'I can't promise you'll enjoy it'. Beyond the painfully obvious, of course.

When his own climax settles to just rhythmic pulsing and thrusting, Bull realises Dorian's beyond where he knows how to comply. That, or he's so over-stimulated that he simply can't make himself do what he needs to do. 

Which. Satisfying. He won't lie. Fucking a magister-to-be so hard he can't use his very extensive skillset?

"Mnnf. If you insist on ignoring me…" 

He pushes one last time in, then lets his cock slip out. Rather a lot of fluid follows after, dripping down from Dorian's abused hole to the sheets below. Bull hooks two fingers into him, and lifts – lifts – until his weight is suspended from that point. He leans in to lick the spend from around his rim, and grabs his cock again. 

"I gave you the opportunity to behave, but you just can't, can you? Coming when you shouldn't, not coming when I tell you to… anyone would think there's something wrong inside of you…" And not that Bull is giving him impossible orders, quite on purpose. 

Which is when he reaches for the plug again, and presses it to his pucker. "This doesn't stop until you learn." He wouldn't do this before fucking him wide open, because plugs aren't made to use as dildos, but he's ridden him hard enough that it's not too much of a concern when he starts to slam the toy in. He keeps the tunnel of his hand to fuck his soft cock through, wanting to stimulate him beyond what he can possibly handle. 

" _ **Fuck!**_ " Dorian nigh-on _screeches_ ; completely out of his mind and only processing the sensations now. And processing them at about ten thousand percent, which makes him feel like his body is trying to tear itself apart. "Fuck! Mercy! _Please!_ _**Please!**_ "

He can't handle it. He knows he can't handle it. But he also _can't_ get the other man to show him a drop of mercy, and that fact is slamming him further and further out of his own head… and suddenly everything starts to go slow, and distant, and he's processing the sensations still but he's not _here_.

"…please," he gasps again, but it's quieter now, and softer, as he just _sinks_ into the black.

The voice is softer, now. Level, certain, and oh-so-loving. "You can do as I say, kadan. You can. Reach inside yourself, and give me that last bit. That last section you keep, the one that's buried deep inside…" Bull doesn't ease up the pace, though he does rub his cheek gently against his ass. "Come apart for me. Be _unmade_. Not broken. _You_. I love you. Let go. I'll catch you."

The plug is thrown aside, and Bull's tongue replaces it, humming in delight as he gives the softest, tenderest strokes over his lover's shaft. He hopes to fuck he's played it just right, because if he has… he's sure Dorian will never wonder if he can 'take it' again. 

"…please…" Dorian keeps murmuring, though he's clearly not 'here' anymore. "…please… please… I…"

And then some strange kind of re-completion hits him; simultaneously hard and soft, washing through him quick but undeniable. He cries out, utterly wrecked, and though there's nothing left in him to spill he still _feels_ like he is. But… even these sensations are so faraway, and when the waves of pleasure fade back he's left drifting in pure delirium.

Bull holds him through the crest of it, licks turning to kisses. Strokes turning to cupping. He climbs back onto the bed – kicking all remaining interference away – and spoons protectively around him. Arms and legs, then the blanket over the top of them both, gently easing his body into a comfortable long-term position. He knows Dorian wouldn't notice if he was getting a cramp, or locking up a muscle, and he makes sure he's got him as supported and safe as he can. 

"That's right… that's right. Shh, kadan, my heart… you can rest, now. You did it. You did it for me. I'm so proud of you. Just rest, now. I love you, I'm here…" 

Bull wonders if any spirit would even be able to talk to him, right now. He doubts it. And if they tried, Bull would find a way to slaughter them for daring. He's protective at the best of times, but the fierce, loving need to defend and drown him in affection is sharper than he's ever known. Even riding away from the damn mess with the templar and Alexius. This… it's just…

"You did it, kadan. I love you. You're so brave. So beautiful. I _love you_."

Dorian makes a soft little murmur that is probably supposed to be a response, and just lies in Bull's arms, drifting so far and so deep that he's not so much thinking in words as _feelings_.

Warm. Comfortable. Quiet. Safe. _Love_.

Another tiny murmur. His brain is trying to say something, but he has no idea what it is or how to say it. But… it's definitely good.

"I know. I know." Bull has seen things a little like this before. Never quite this intense, or prolonged, or… moving. Just like every other bedmate was more of a trickle of piss when you don't really need to go, compared to the white-water rapids of Dorian. 

Which he knows is because they _work_. Because it **is** right, on the deepest of levels. Dorian craves the release and freedom, and Bull is driven to offer it. From how much effort it takes to send him here, he knows there's every chance it couldn't ever be someone else. 

And that… feels…

"So good, so strong… so beautiful… my precious treasure. My gift from the stars themselves. Kadan… just breathe. Just breathe." He tugs a little tighter. "You are everything to me. Never forget that. _Never_. And I will be here for you, no matter what."

Dorian just _drifts_ , silent and still and so very _content_ , and he feels like the weight of a thousand years has been smashed off his chest and he can simply _breathe_.

It may not have been easy to get here. But it was so, so worth it in the end.


	20. Chapter 20

It is hard – even after very, very satisfying sex – for Bull to truly sleep through the night. One part of his mind is making sure the mage snuggled and mumbling in his arms is okay, and another is imagining the upcoming fight. 

Still, he manages enough soldier-sleep and rest to mean that when Dorian _does_ stir enough, he is bright and fresh enough to face the day. Bull squeezes him again, a low morning vibrating them both, and combs back a lick of hair from his forehead. 

"You back from the Fade, yet? Or wherever it was you were? It seemed to be nice…"

"Mmmmm…" Dorian murmurs, still heavy with sleep. He _aches_ all over, but it's a really, really good ache, and it makes him remember. "…what'd you do to me..?"

The flashes of memory keep coming, and they're getting stronger, and, "… _oh_ … fuck… that was…"

"Precisely what you needed?" Bull finishes for him, tugging his chin up for a slow, chaste kiss. "Needed to get your head right before the other shit. Couldn't send you somewhere dark. You… sore, anywhere?"

" _Everywhere_ ," Dorian answers, very happily. "You are a _fiend_." He snuggles in closer, trying to get as much contact as possible. "Never change."

"Well… I'll only change if you do, too, and we do it together." Bull scoops him up, so he's held in a more encompassing cuddle. "You know… you were pretty damn amazing. _And_ you forgot your magic."

"…I was saving it!" Dorian insists, though it's a pretty flimsy excuse and he knows it. "So I can heal your beautiful ass when the damn dragon lights it on fire."

"You did a very good job, then. Because I intend to have you swoop in and rescue me like the big, manly Vint you are…" Whilst teasing, his tone is very light. "But in seriousness… if you need, or want, to talk about any of it… it doesn't have to be now. And unless you _need_ it to be like that… we can do it any way you want to. I… all I want is you as happy as you were."

Bull pecks the tip of his nose. "Plus, seeing you pretty much sobbing from all the sex… _whoo_ boy. Yes, please, and thank you. I knew you had it in you. You basically _reek_ of perpetual lust."

"…you bring it out in me," Dorian says, more softly. "And you… you were phenomenal. I'm not sure I'm going to be able to _walk_ when I try, but that just means you did it right. And I'm… grateful… that you pushed. I _did_ need to know what would happen. I just… don't think I understood quite what that meant until you did it."

"And… and I don't need it like that all the time. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't ask for it again. Because… I would."

"I told you: _Ashkaari_. Your mind is one that asks questions. That seeks truths… even about yourself." His hand comes to rest on Dorian's chest, above his heart. "The deeper we see inside of ourselves, and each other… the more incredible it will be."

Bull rubs morning stubble against morning stubble. "I can massage your thighs before we set out. If you promise to only need one round, maximum… it'd be better if you conserved that energy for the girl we have a date with… and then me, after. Don't think I forgot our little wager."

"Mmmmm, that would be nice. I should have realised you'd be good at doing that, too. Of course, your secret's out now…"

Dorian smiles, light and playful; still in too good of a mood to worry.

"…and no, I certainly haven't forgotten. Though I can think of safer ways for you to get yourself a night of wild sex with me. _Much_ safer. Like saying please. Or just _doing it_."

"Just once… and if you _hate_ it… we only do it when it's necessary. But this isn't just indulging me. We could get a big jump on Alexius. If it was purely for my benefit… but for once, it isn't." And it's hard to admit he would turn away from a dragon, when they're absolutely up there on his most-fun-activities-that-don't-involve-Dorian-naked, but he would. 

Dorian gives a soft little sigh. "I know. And… that's something I very much want to do. I understand the reasoning behind it. I just… don't want any of us to get killed."

Most enemies don't give him great cause for concern, after all. Other than templars, or another very powerful mage, they're unlikely to be a massive risk. But a dragon… a dragon is dangerous.

"It might surprise you to learn that we don't want to die, either. And I have a very, very, _very_ compelling reason not to, now." Bull kisses said reason on his cheek. "Stop defeating us before we've started. Now… do you want that pre-dragon rub-down before we eat and set out?"

Dorian smiles. "Yes. I _absolutely_ do…"

***

It's a while later when they meet for breakfast. Dorian thinks breakfast is _great_ , and spends most of it eating far more than usual and staring at Bull with a rather large smile on his face. It gets him odd looks from the Chargers, but they're smart enough not to comment.

And besides, he's _quiet_. Which is rare.

Before long, they're setting off; saddling up the horses and following the road into the foothills of the Vimmark Mountains, until they come to an obvious fork in the path. A rather battered sign declares that both routes eventually lead to Ostwick, but the left-hand one has a newer sign nailed beneath it, with the words ' _Warning: Dragon_ ' daubed in Common.

"Last chance to change your minds," Dorian points out, but even his tone is lighter now, and no one takes him up on it.

So… off they go, on the shorter route through the mountains. The path is rocky, and there are places where they have to ride single-file, but before long the road starts to widen and level out, leading onto a craggy plateau.

A very empty, very quiet plateau.

"…maybe it's out hunting," Dorian says, with a hint of hope in his voice.

Bull closes his lone eye, tilting his head up. He sniffs at the wind, noticing the direction it's travelling. Listening for the sound of any birds, or ground-dwelling animals. 

"She's waiting for us," he says, instead. "She knows we've been coming. She's known for a while… can't you feel her in the air?"

"I thought that was just midges," Stitches says, slapping at his wrist with the other hand. 

"She's going to keep to the skies, at first. I'll bring her to ground. Is everyone ready?"

"I don't suppose saying 'no' would help," Dorian tries, but there's no strength behind it, and he knows this is happening now. "And just remember I can heal you as well as throw fireballs, so if anyone needs it, don't be afraid to shout."

Speaking of which, he gives a broad wave of the hand, making glittering blue-green light briefly envelop them all before fading back: a barrier spell, to offer some initial defence. It won't be much against a dragon, but it's better than nothing.

Bull drags his attention back to Dorian, just for a moment. He makes sure he's got that last little agreement, first. That last little reassurance offered. Bull has no intention of bowing out to the beast. He wants to show he _can_ do this. Too many times recently he… hasn't. And this… this is personal. 

"Chargers," he bellows, when he's convinced everyone is ready. "Horns UP!"

The same cry echoes back, and then Bull is kicking his horse to be ahead of the others. He's the one most able to take a direct blow, and the biggest (and visually most intimidating) target to draw her attention.

Not that it takes much. There's an unearthly screech, and a dark smudge blocks out light from above. Charcoal-black streaked with a grey-white and chased with orange highlights, two horns curled forwards over the brow, and wings broad enough to cover a small house. 

Bull leans back in his saddle, admiring for just a moment, before he's lifting his axe above his head and bawling a challenge to bring her down to fight. 

"… _vishante kaffas_ , this is insane…" Dorian murmurs, if only to himself, and kicks his horse on as well, needing to close at least some of the distance before he starts spellcasting.

Overhead, the vast dragon wheels around, roaring again in obvious response to the challenge from the ground below, and swooping over to a raised crag where it can perch without the squishy mortals being able to reach it.

And _then_ … there's a burst of blue-purple light from the dragon's mouth, and a ball of lightning comes hurtling down towards them, crackling fiercely as it does.

Bull's mount screams in distress (understandably so), as he banks the reins hard left, and holds his axe up to ground the lightning away from the others as best he can. He jumps off the horse, and runs right at her, cursing her cowardice and ancestry in a streak of Qunlat that few this south would begin to understand. 

"Where the fuck are the archers when you need them?" Krem bitches, still mounted, and doing his best to dodge the spray. "Buckles, draw the damn thing down!"

"Take out the fucking _rock_ ," Bull yells. "Don't go for her, make her fall!"

Dorian knows he needs to go all-out early on if this is going to work. The Chargers can do the bulk of the really aggressive fighting once the damn dragon is on the ground, but right now there's no option for them except a great deal of dodging. Especially given that the dragon is now launching lightning-balls at them with a fervour that even Dorian can't fault.

"Everyone stay back!" Dorian shouts, staff drawn and spiralling through the air as he prepares to cast; knowing this one needs to be _good_. He lets the magic fill him up, and then _lashes_ out with a barrage of energy bolts, launching them not at the dragon itself, but at the rock beneath it.

The creature roars in obvious annoyance, trying to keep its footing, but when Dorian launches a second barrage at it, the crag crumbles enough to make staying up there seem like a bad idea.

…especially when you have giant wings, and can swoop around and down, claws bared.

"NICE!" It's the lone word of praise Bull can spare, as he swings up, sending one of her claws into a sharp recoil. And going immediately for the place her wing-joint meets her shoulder. 

The other melee fighters move to flank, avoiding her head and tail as much as possible, targeting soft spots and exposed parts as the creature shrieks, trying to bring her head around to land her jaws on someone. 

Bull slams the pommel of his axe into the ground, and hurls himself forwards, spurred on by the scent of dragon blood and the fervour in the air. She's magnificent, and he can see how wild and furious the dragon is, which makes the sudden crack on her foreleg all the more satisfying. He pays for it with the way she sweeps out, knocking him back, but he's down for barely a moment before he's running headlong in again. 

It is _hard_ to stay at range when you're fighting a dragon. Close-quarters means you get clawed. Ranged means you get a lightning-ball to the face. Or, Dorian nearly does, at least; kicking his horse into a desperate charge to get out of the way whilst flicking his staff _up_ and making a wall of fire burst out of the ground right beneath the dragon.

The vast creature roars and rears up on her hind legs, trying to avoid the gout of flame, and giving the Chargers a chance to go for her underbelly. It doesn't last long, though, as she swoops the darting form of Skinner aside and all but hops to the left, with a beat of her wings that makes everyone struggle to stay upright.

Bull pushes with his thighs, getting just enough power to sink the curve of his weapon into one muscular leg. The dragon screams, flapping harder, but as Bull holds onto the handgrip it simply has him slicing it through the tendons, down to the wrist.

Furious, and half-lamed, she twirls her tail and attempts to take off again.

Krem and Stitches slice into the open wing-leather, shredding it just as she starts to rise, meaning she's canting heavily to one side and pulling one leg in to guard against her chest. 

Which is when Bull decides he's going for her tail. He runs after it, and sinks his axe in, determined to stay on as a literal pain in her ass, throwing her balance and causing pain. "I saw you spitting at my boyfriend," he tells her, as he sinks a dagger in between scales with the other hand, trying to climb up an increasingly violent appendage. " _No one hurts my kadan_." 

"Chief?"

Bull can't even hear Krem, as he's solely focussed on carving under the dragon's hide, trying to avoid being tossed off her tail or clawed at. When her head comes around to slam her jaws on him, Bull lodges his axe in her open mouth and grabs hold of her horns.

" _Bull!_ " Dorian shouts, convinced the other man is about to get himself killed. He leaps off his horse and charges in, staff glowing and glowing as he creates another furious barrage of energy that he launches at the dragon from much closer range.

And then it's fireball after fireball, over and over until he starts to ache with how low his mana is getting, and the fucking dragon is still _alive_ , and…

… _fasta vass_.

Dorian pulls a vial from a pocket on his belt: small and glittering blue. Lyrium. He snaps off the cap, takes a breath, and downs the lot…

…and the world seems to go simultaneously hazy and _sharp_ at the same time, with the strangest echo of distant song, almost as if it's floating on the breeze. The magic-exhaustion fades in mere seconds, and suddenly Dorian feels really, _really_ good.

There's an explosion of light and energy surrounding him, and he advances on the dragon with slow, deliberate steps; flinging bolts of fire and ice and something that glows iridescent purple at the creature in front of him.

" _Now you die!_ "

Dragons apparently don't like you grabbing them by the horns and putting your feet on their snouts. Bull isn't all that surprised by this knowledge. She's trying to dislodge the axe he's forced into her craw, spitting out whorls and tendrils that lick around his ankles when she shakes a foot free. 

Then he's bracing both his boots in the forward arch of her horns, near her nose and mouth, with his new dagger sunk into her skull between his thighs. He heard the crunch of bone, but the damn thing still isn't down.

They truly are glorious, he thinks, as he twists the blade, wondering if he'll be thrown free before she succumbs. She can't survive that kind of injury, right? Not while she's being harrowed at the feet and…

Bull looks up when he hears a familiar voice finally cut through the thundering in his own horns. Dorian! He's pretty much as vibrant as the beast he's riding, and Bull doesn't want her spitting anything else (including his axe) over in that direction. So he twists the blade, and makes her turn her head just enough that her next flare careens off to the side. 

"Kadan! She'll go down! Finish her!"

The part where sitting on top of the thing your boyfriend is throwing magic at may not be the best idea is utterly beyond him, right now. The noises she's making and the bucking have him so, so fucking hard… 

"Did I tell you I love you?" he adds, howling at the top of his lungs. Especially right now. Damn does he look hot. 

The man is insane. Utterly insane. Dorian loves him, desperately, but he's _insane_.

Although maybe he himself is a little insane too. He does _not_ like taking lyrium if he can help it, but this is the kind of situation where you don't have a choice, if you want to live. And now… now he feels like everything is functioning at about two hundred percent; power singing through his blood and darting out from him with deadly accuracy.

_Finish her_. He can do that. He knows he can do that. He is an unstoppable force of nature and _he can kill a dragon_.

A broad swipe of the hand, and a renewed wave of blue-green flares up over Bull and the Chargers; a protective barrier, because what Dorian is planning to do next can get a little messy. And… he's never cast it on anything this big before.

Staff up, and a sharp spiral, and vibrant purple light crashes inwards on the dragon, making the creature seem to glow angrily from within. The dragon thrashes and roars, obviously suffering the spell's effects, but this is just the start…

" _Bull!_ " Dorian howls, at the last moment. " _ **Jump!**_ "

Another flick upwards with the staff, triggering the finale, and the dragon seems to _explode_ from the inside in a searing burst of violet fire. She screeches in pain, flailing desperately, and then drops to the ground with a rough thud, slumping to the side.

While she's thrashing, Bull uses his upper body strength to push deeper into her skull, but even in his blood-fuelled berserker mode, he can't _not_ hear Dorian.

So he jumps. Without question. He takes most of the weight on his good ankle, though his weaker one slams into the ground second. Rather than crumple or let it twist, he barrels himself into a roll, one which is only stopped by the fingers pushed into the churned-up mulch and mud.

When he looks back up, the high Vinsomer is in the middle of a violent rearrangement of physical extremities. It's another show of pure force, and when her body stops moving, Bull leaps to his feet and throws both hands above his head.

"Yes! YES! Oh, fuck, yes! Did you see that? DID YOU SEE THAT? HOLY SHIT. KADAN! Kadan you just – EXPLODED A DRAGON!"

Bull goes straight up to him, arms around him in a bone-crushing hug that has him twirl Dorian around in a full circle, before letting him down again. Only to grab his face and kiss him stupid. 

Dorian is too caught up in the moment not to kiss him back, keeping his staff in one hand and using the other to hold on tight. His blood is _burning_ and it takes every shred of lingering control not to summon up a wall of force and slam Bull down on his back right now.

But only because they're not alone. Otherwise he's sure he'd be doing just that, and probably howling with primal glee in the process.

" _Fuck_ ," he gasps, instead, when the kiss breaks. "Fuck, are you all right, is everyone all right? _Shit_ , we just killed a dragon..!"

"All right? All right? I'm fucking _ecstatic_. You should have **seen** yourself. If I hadn't already demanded your hand in marriage, I'd be doing it right the fuck now!" Bull steals another kiss, then bounds over to retrieve his weapons.

The one in her skull has to be yanked out, but the axe she's bitten down on has ruptured her palate and he has to brace his legs on the hinge of her jaws to--

"Chief… maybe don't do that when they'll slam shut on you?" Krem suggests. "And yeah… few bruises… but don't worry about us. We're good. Right, guys?"

"…we are. But didn't you just…" Stitches mimics drinking from a bottle to Dorian.

Bull meanwhile is unhinging the dragon's jaw from the outside. 

"…Yeah," Dorian admits, because there's nothing wrong with it, per se. He just… isn't a fan. Possibly this is because of a lingering awareness that if he let himself develop a taste for it, he'd never stop. "Don't worry. Mages can use processed lyrium in small doses without much risk. And even if I do go a bit weird, it will wear off eventually."

He opts not to mention the part where he might start consciously Fadewalking, because it's best not to worry people. And that would usually require him to take more.

"As long as you're okay. Seen some templars… you know. Before it went to shit. Not so many mages." Stitches nods, content if he is. And then a friendly kick of boot to boot. "Can't have you going crazy on us. Or getting hurt. Chief would kill us."

Bull swaggers back, arms blooded to the elbows, with his axe slung over his shoulder. He looks _drunk_. "What was that? And you reckon we can take the horns from her, at least? We should gut her for anything she's eaten and not passed – you know, metal stuff – and the meat will sell well…"

"…I was just reassuring Stitches that it's safe for me to take lyrium because I'm a mage," Dorian answers, in what he hopes is an offhand tone. Also hoping that Bull won't think too much of it. "Though if I suddenly drop down unconscious, just put a blanket over me until I come to. That doesn't happen often, though."

Also, should the man look _that_ hot covered in blood? Because… he does. And coupled with Dorian's post-battle magic-high, it's taking a lot of self-control not to do something inappropriate.

Bull's eye slides over him, considering, checking. The sensible part somewhere still awake makes a note to watch him like a hawk. "You could always ride on my horse, you know…"

"You two don't need to keep making up reasons," Krem jumps in. "We _know_."

Bull smirks. "Oh, you're just jealous. And… kadan… you still want to tell me that wasn't _freaking awesome_? Because you just blew a high dragon up like an over-stretched balloon…" His free hand makes a gesture to that very effect. "Hnnnngh. Think I got a nosebleed just thinking about it again…"

"Skinner… come help me?" Stitches asks, seeming to want to move them along. 

"You don't need to ask me twice," Skinner drawls in reply, with a pointed look at Bull and Dorian, and follows the medic off.

"…It was somewhat awesome," Dorian concedes, though the way he can't stop smiling says more than the words ever could. "Even when I thought we were all going to die horribly."

"I'm glad you approve, though," he adds, looking pleased. "I like it when you watch."

"Oh, I was _watching. Ataas shokra,_ I was watching…" Bull can't help but lick his lips. Maybe he could help it. But he doesn't want to, and from his heavy lidded eye… he's enjoying doing the same thing, now. 

"I felt her life breaking between my thighs. I felt the great soul of her rushing through her body. And I felt… _alive_."

Krem just shakes his head and goes back to his horse, and the other two. 

Bull probably should feel guilty about how often that happens, but he doesn't. 

Dorian steps in again, running his hand over Bull's chest more carefully. "Are you hurt?" he asks. "I can help, if you are. Even if it's something minor. It's just… hard to tell with all the dragon blood…"

"Nothing that needs fixing. Besides… I _like_ it rough, remember?" Not that Bull is going to complain about hands on him, and he most deliberately flexes to show off. And to show off all the blood that most assuredly isn't his. 

His head drops down to Dorian's ear. "So. What did we agree, again? Because I'm so fucking happy right now, I'd probably agree to anything you asked… mmmmnnn. You were so damn _hot_. I nearly came in my damn pants watching you just then."

"I _believe_ the agreement was that, if I enjoyed myself, you got to do _anything_ you wanted with me tonight," Dorian answers, truthfully enough. "Although given that you spent _last_ night doing precisely that, and I just had to fight a dragon whilst feeling like I'd been split in two not all that long ago… perhaps we should rethink the terms of this little arrangement…"

Not that he'd object to a second night of letting Bull do _anything_ he wants. It's just fun to push the matter because he can.

"How about we find a compromise?" Bull offers. "You get to start… and I get to finish? And by finish… I don't mean round one." Oh no. Bull is fired up enough that…

No one can see, right now, if he slides his hand over the front of Dorian's pants. Probably. 

"We did discuss what would happen if you tried your way until I lost it… or…?" He grips him through the soft fabric. "Want to counter-offer? Maybe another round of bedroom duelling, or maybe just flip a coin and whoever calls right gets which side they called? Oh – you know the Qunari have one of those leather things I told you about which is big enough for _two_ people at once?"

"You are an _insatiable maniac_ ," Dorian says, very lovingly. "And I like the idea of trying it my way until you can't _stand_ it anymore and just _have_ to put me in my place…"

He arches into the touch, murmuring softly in pleasure.

"…although, I _really_ do want to take a look at that dragon corpse. I couldn't fully appreciate it when the thing was alive and trying to kill me, after all. Plus, some of the body parts can be used as potion ingredients…"

Bull drops his head into Dorian's neck, shuddering with the anticipation of… his fingers give another stroke, another squeeze… "Mmm, okay. Dragon, first. Then… biggest damn bed we can find. Then… you, then me, then probably me again, then…" Because he is a bastard, Bull kneads his hand very firmly, holds, and then releases. 

"Don't blame me. You're the one driving me crazy. I was perfectly happy having a reasonable amount of sex, and then I met you. And now I am not happy. Having a reasonable amount, that is. I want _all_ I can get from you…"

"And you shall have it, amatus," Dorian promises, with another smile. "Consider it a promise…"

He steps back lingeringly, and then paces off towards the dragon corpse. Now he has a chance to look at it… the thing truly was magnificent. Terrifying and deadly, oh yes, but magnificent too. He can see why Bull finds them so appealing.

Skinner and Stitches are busy collecting the best parts to use or sell – naturally they can't carry everything so they're going for the best bits first – and Dorian moves in towards the dragon's head as if planning to do the same.

But… he isn't. It's true that some dragon body parts can be used to make certain potions, but he's hardly equipped to be doing that out here, and besides, it's really not his area of interest. There is, however, something he wants. Something he wants very badly. Something he remembers from an old book on the Qunari, which is at least part of the reason why he agreed to this insane trip in the first place.

_Dragon teeth_. Or, specifically, one of them. Several have been dislodged in the fighting, and Dorian searches for the best-looking of the lot, secreting it away so no one knows he's got it. Because… he's got work to do, before he lets Bull ravage him senseless tonight.

Bull is just… in a whole other place right now. And the best part is Dorian actually not hating it. Which was what he hoped, but wasn't going to push for. He leans back against his beleaguered horse's flank, watching Dorian's arse as he bends over, and trying not to let how aroused he is show that badly.

Because. Damn. Crazy Vint mage battle fury and a dragon? It's pretty much all of his fantasies condensed into one. 

"Are you guys nearly done? Don't we have a world to save?" And more importantly, beds to break? 

Dorian is the first to return, though the other two take the hint and follow along after him; slinging their loot onto their horses' saddles.

"Says the man who took time out to go dragon-hunting," Dorian points out, but he's clearly teasing. "But you're right, we should get going. If we keep up a good place, we should get down to the other side of the Vimmarks by nightfall."

Which is good. Because there are no inns up here in the mountains, and Dorian is not spending _tonight_ **camping**.

"You still wanting that ride?" Bull asks, cocking his head to one side in what he hopes is a winsome and appealing manner. And not… bordering on clingy. It's not clingy. He just… likes cuddling him.

And maybe occasionally fondling him.

"Next time, we only get them one damn horse," Stitches says to Krem. 

"How could I say no?" Dorian all but purrs, heading over to join him.

He's allowed to be in a good mood, after all. And, if his plan works out, tonight is going to be even better.


	21. Chapter 21

The rest of the day is mercilessly uneventful, and they make it down through the crags on the far side of the Vimmarks, where there's a little village in the foothills. It's small, but it has a decent-looking inn.

Getting a few minutes alone is challenging for Dorian, given that Bull is _very_ hands-on this evening, but he manages it after they've gotten something to eat. And… he does what he needs to do.

And now, he just has to wait until he gets Bull alone. Which, given the mood the man is in, likely won't take long tonight.

Bull doesn't want to be polite. Not tonight, anyway. Bull has plans, and those plans are 'Dorian' and 'repeatedly'. Which is why his hand keeps wandering under the table, and he's trying to make him make the damn move.

After all, Dorian did say he wanted to start.

But there's only so long a Bull can pace in his field before he tries to break down the fence. 

"Kadaaaaan… haven't you had enough?" he asks, an arm slung over his shoulder, pulling him in for yet another close-quarters meeting. "I'll buy all the bottles if you need them. Hell, we killed the damn dragon. They _owe_ us most of the tavern…"

"Anyone would think you only wanted me for my body," Dorian replies, with a smirk. "Which is understandable. I mean, look at it."

He deliberately downs what remains of his wine with a flourish, and then gives a gracious gesture towards the door. "Shall we?"

Bull's nose wrinkles. "Your body is a necessary part, or else you'd be a spirit, and I don't fuck _real_ demons. And I am looking at it. I would like a closer look…"

He's hooking a finger under Dorian's collar, peering, before the man's finished his drink. And then he sort of… melts. "Mmm. Yeah. You gonna carry me over your shoulder?"

"Much as that _would_ be entertaining, I have plans for things to do with my magic that are _far_ more fun," Dorian points out, smoothly. "So I recommend you move under your own power for now. I promise it will be worth it…"

To which, Bull pushes his nose into Dorian's neck. Quietly murmuring, for his attention only: "I do remember you promising to tug me out of an inn by my ear sometime, though… or you could find the handle in my pants and use that to pull me along…"

"Now, now, we can't have people thinking the illustrious Iron Bull is entirely cock-led by a wicked mage from Tevinter," Dorian purrs. " _Even if he is_. Appearances are everything, after all."

"Why not?" Bull nibbles on Dorian's chain. "Nothing wrong in being loyal. Or… under your terrible, terrible spell…" He slides his own hand to Dorian's waistband. "Everyone _knows_ I'm yours. And vice versa. We're not _quiet_." 

Anything but. Bull decides he feels ornery, and moves to straddle Dorian's lap for a change, arms folding over his shoulders, purring and delighted by how ridiculous a Qunari lap-dancing on a Tevinter mage must look. "Now they can't ignore it… should I tell them all how you exploded a dragon and I nearly creamed myself because of how _hot_ you are?"

"Liked that, did you?" Dorian replies, still smirking from ear to ear. "But that's even _more_ transgressive. Not merely cock-led by a wicked Tevinter, but reduced to sodden lust just watching him fight…"

He leans in closer, whispering now. "I liked you watching. I like the thought of being so _irresistible_ that I completely up-ended your worldview on mages. _Especially_ this mage."

Bull's fingers ease under the upper layers covering Dorian's chest, as he starts to (albeit a little awkwardly given his size) squirm in a sloppy circle above him. "Thought you were dangerous. Still true. Thought you were people. Definitely true." Mouth over his throat, tipping his head back and speaking against his neck, teeth pinching in. 

"…never thought you'd be the most erotically powerful person I ever met, able to make me hard just with an eyebrow… make me grind into my saddle watching you throw death like kisses… never thought I'd be wrapped around your little finger, craving you so badly I don't know if I want you to slam me into the bed, or me you… well. Because I want _both_. Kadan… tell me you didn't burn all your magic up before…" 

"Amatus, I took _lyrium_ ," Dorian points out. "Right now, I feel like the magical equivalent of having just woken up after a lovely long sleep. Only a _lot_ more aroused. So… do you _want_ to keep giving everyone in here a show they'll never forget, or shall I give _you_ a night _you'll_ never forget..?"

"Want. **You** ," Bull answers, and grabs the back of Dorian's chair so he can slam into his crotch, then plant his feet so he can slowly rise to stand, his chest sliding over Dorian's in an open invitation and in the hopes of as much contact as he can get.

"You're my damn lyrium. That and dragon blood. So show me what you're made of…" He steps back, and… well. Offers one hand, and bows over it. It is most decidedly deliberate. 

Dorian takes Bull's hand and stands, smoothly. "Oh, I'll show you," he promises.

Thankfully for everyone else in the tavern, they make their way off to their own room without too much fuss, although Dorian knows any semblance of good behaviour will go out the window once they're alone. And… he needs not to immediately launch into things like they might usually, on account of his surprise.

So, the moment they're behind their door, he puts a hand on Bull's chest. "There's something I want to do, first," he says, tone more serious.

Bull pauses, already en-route to nibble some more, both his hands on Dorian's hips. "Yes, kadan?" His tongue keeps stealing out to lick his lips. "What is it?"

Dorian looks suddenly… nervous? Close to it, at least.

"I… have something for you. I hope I've done this right…"

He reaches into one of the pouches on his belt, and pulls out a pair of matching necklaces: a dragon's tooth split in two and each half suspended on a thin leather strap; holding them up so Bull can see.

"…I remember reading that this is a tradition among the Qunari," he says. "For when you are allowed to… pair-bond. And it's from the dragon we killed together, so it seemed appropriate anyway…"

Bull stops what he's doing, blinking very rapidly. He rarely curses in Tevene, but it's what comes to his tongue first. " _Fenhedis_ , are you shitting me?" 

He isn't. Because he's holding them right there. Two halves of one whole, broken from the maw of the most lethal and beautiful creature he's ever – well – _they've_ ever defeated. He's transfixed for a long moment, wetting his lips nervously while his guts knot and unknot and…

One finger reaches up, tracing the cutting edge. It's _beautiful_ and it's perfect and…

" **Yes**." It's the only word he really can manage, as he drags his eye to Dorian's, clearly deeply affected. Shaken, even. Yes, yes, yes. 

That makes Dorian smile, clearly relieved, and pleased as well. "I love you," he says, softly. "I was so touched when you proposed the way you did, so… I wanted to return the favour. And I thought… if I'll follow you to fight a damn dragon, I'll follow you anywhere."

He leans in and slips one of the leather straps around Bull's neck, knotting it loosely in place so the half-tooth hangs against his chest, and then does the same for himself. And it feels good. Feels _right_. Feels… **them**.

Bull obediently dips his head to assist, and when Dorian's done putting his own on… a scarred hand lifts to press against the fang, over his mate's chest. It looks good there. A sign of battle-victory, a show of strength, and a sign of devotion. He's sure from how Dorian's done it that it means as much to him as it does to Bull, and that knots him up even more. 

"In fairness, we fought the damn dragon to chase after your damn fool-ass cultist mentor, so I think we're even. And I have no desire to retrieve any trophies from _him_ , before you worry. Other than your peace of mind…"

Bull wraps his fingers between the two chains, and tugs him lightly closer, towards lips that hover just above his. "I love you so. Damn. Much. And… Shit! I just do, kadan, I--" 

Nope. Words aren't good. He grabs the man in the small of his back, the other moving to support his neck as he dips him into the deepest kiss he dares. That's better. Still not enough, but better. 

Oh, that's so very, very lovely. Dorian murmurs in happiness as Bull kisses him, holding on and revelling in it, and lingering over the contact when the kiss finally breaks.

"I know," he says, soft and sincere. "I know. And… I _did_ enjoy fighting that dragon more than I expected. I'm not saying I want to purposefully go looking for more, but… it was good."

Bull keeps him dipped for a moment, liking the way it makes him look up and how it feels like he's supporting and protecting him, even if he knows he doesn't need it. "Two things call to me, above all else. One is a dragon nearby… and you know the other one."

With measured pace, he guides Dorian back upright. "It's also the one I'd choose to follow, if it lead me the other way. But if one _happens_ to be near… and you _feel_ like rendering me incoherent with ardour…" 

"You are _very_ affectionate tonight," Dorian points out, happily. "I suppose it's a good consolation for future fights… at least I know the aftermath will be worth it."

He runs his hands over Bull's chest, deliberately bumping against the half-tooth now hanging there. "…That being said, don't you think it's about time I got all this excess magic out of my system..?"

This isn't how it works, of course. But it's a good line nonetheless.

Those broad, broad shoulders shift, Bull's chest flexing and revelling in the touches. "Mmm, well, I'm a _very_ resilient target… and if you're all pent up, then it would be rude of me to not let you work out any lingering needs…" 

Bull tilts his chin back, just a little. "And you _know_ how I get after a good fight. So much **joy** at being alive… all that energy needing beating out… or…" his eye flicks down, then up. " _Beating_ out. Why don't we be of use to one another…?" 

"You make it sound so _clinical_ ," Dorian remarks, even as he's grasping both of Bull's hands and pulling him towards the bed. "Surely we can make it about more than just taking the edge off..?"

His hands move to start unbuckling the other man's chest harness, still slow and deliberate, wanting to see how Bull will respond before he does anything more involved.

"Well… there is the part where I wouldn't let anyone else _touch_ my edge, now… and how crazy you drive me… and how I spend most of my waking moments thinking about you… and wondering where you are if you happen to be out of sight for a moment… but I didn't want to appear… clingy?" 

Bull leans into each touch, but he's clearly highly strung and sitting on a lot of eager energy. One hand holds Dorian's face, tilting it to gaze punch-drunk and adoringly down at him. "Half of me wants you to pin me down and show me what you're made of. Half of me wants to do the same to you. And a _third_ half – because I feel **far** too much for it all to fit in me – just wants to tie both our hands together and make love so slowly that the stars are worried they'll go to bed before they see us finish…" 

"Oh, amatus, we're intelligent men… we can do all three," Dorian points out, with another little smile, as his hands now move to the other man's waistband. "How about I go _wild_ with magic, until you can't handle it any longer and just _go wild_ with me? And then… _then_ we can go for a slow, slow finale…"

He pushes Bull back on the bed, climbing on top to continue stripping him; still fully clothed himself. "…just say yes? I'll make it worth your while…"

"Were you wanting the challenge of me saying 'no'?" Bull smirks, going down onto his elbows, moving to help his hands continue their work. "Did you want to convince me, or is the fact I all but begged you to bring me to our room the real thrill? Because I _can_ still fight… while you spend more energy controlling me… or I can let your wicked, Vint ways wash over me until your mana weakens and my lust overpowers us…" 

Dorian smirks. "I _did_ enjoy how eager you were. It's nice to be wanted, after all. _Especially_ this much. But it depends on what you need. I can hold you down without difficulty…"

A wave of magic, surging even more easily than usual – thanks to the lingering lyrium in his system – and Dorian slams Bull flat on his back, leaning in over him. "…then again, I can also conserve my magic for… _other_ things…"

Fingertips trace over the other man's chest, trailing heat and cold, simply for the joy of the sensation, and from the look in Dorian's eyes, he's already high as a kite.

"…though, considering the way I feel right now, I can likely do _both_. So if you have a preference either way, you should tell me _quickly_ …"

"Want… to see what you do… when no one puts demands on you." Bull's tongue is thick in his mouth, because it's certainly appealing (and, minorly terrifying) to think of being entirely merciless. At least until Dorian's ability to keep channeling whatever it is he does fades. "Want to see you… do what you want, for you – and me – and I _swear_ you'll enjoy it when the tables turn…" 

He pushes up against the hold, to feel how reassuring and firm it is. It makes his legs spread that bit wider, and then he's swaying between the fingers that graze over him. It's a lot to process, and his mind goes away for a moment just to categorise and record the sensations. 

"I'm _yours_. Until I'm not. At which point, I still am… but you'll be the one pinned down, screaming and begging."

"Mmmmm," Dorian purrs, looking very much in favour of the idea. "Well, then…"

The pressure gets harder; hard enough that Bull will feel like he's being pinned down by someone even stronger than he is, but _everywhere_ , simultaneously. Dorian's holding out his hand as he does it, but when he moves that hand the pressure just doesn't go, and it's clear he can keep the spell going through will alone.

And then, because he's a teasing bastard at heart, he starts stripping himself instead of doing anything else to Bull, leaving the man forced to simply _watch_ as Dorian works his clothing off and tosses it aside. He _likes_ plenty of skin contact, after all, and plus if he strips off now, it improves the chances of his outfit surviving the night. (When they finally settle down, he's going to have to keep a tailor on retainer.)

"Oh _fuck_!" Bull strains, but not to get free, just because he's desperate to drink in every inch of skin that's uncovered. His chest works hard against the invisible weight, and his hands flex into tight fists, only to reach out over empty air. 

"Kadan… fuck! I knew you were pretty the minute I saw you… I don't know how you manage to get _more_ attractive!"

Not that he will complain. Not when his eyes can travel over taut and teased skin. His tongue comes back out and stays out this time, clearly enjoying the show. 

"I'd like to say it was just natural talent… and, yes, some of it is… but also you bring it out in me," Dorian says, finishing stripping everything off and then settling back into place, straddling Bull's hips. "Now, the question is: do I warm you up slowly or immediately smash you out of your mind..?"

His hands move to start stroking over Bull's chest, trailing sparks in their wake; over the curve of muscles and around first one nipple, then the other.

"…you see, the latter is _fun_ because it's so effective. But I'm sure you can also appreciate the desire to take it more slowly… to watch you struggle to keep your head above the surface knowing full-well you'll sink eventually…"

"I retract my earlier statement," Bull manages to push out. "We're fighting _every_ dragon in Thedas if it makes you act like this…" He's trying to press into those hands, but the force pinning him down means he can't. And that's just… maddening! He can't flex, can't stretch, or swell, or… the touches alone would be murderously good, but combined with the streaks of magic?

Then – a tiny dart of his eye… "You can… do whatever you want… just… kiss me, too?" He tries not to sound like he's begging. He doesn't want to sound like he is. But the sudden vulnerability has him craving the affections he can no longer demand or take.

That makes Dorian look _extremely_ pleased with himself. "I'm tempted to make you beg," he admits, "but I'm sure I'd pay for _that_ later… so let's just say I'm being merciful instead…"

And he leans in, starting to kiss Bull firm and deep, whilst intensifying the sparks to the point where the sensation will really start to trip through him, ratcheting up his arousal.

"…besides, I'm sure you'll be begging for _something_ before long…"

Bull can't really move, but the muscles of his lower back and thighs twitch, and the ones below his fingertips want to spasm because it's – it's – so fucking unfair! And so incredibly hot, and… he absolutely should not be a whining, whimpering mess under this. But he so, so is. He knows he's whipped – and gladly so – and by the time the kiss breaks he's considering why it would be bad to beg in the first place. 

"You'll enjoy it," he whispers, instead. "We both will… when you let yourself ask for what you want… let yourself _accept_ it…" A flicker – maybe from Dorian, maybe from his mind – has him trying to grind down into the bed. "…I want it _all_ , kadan. We are split from the same source. What starts the spiral in me, ends in you… and you in me… you complete me…"

Dorian smiles, clearly touched by the words, but also clearly having _far_ too much fun. "And that's not all I'll do to you," he says, low and promising, and suddenly increases the amount of magic he's using, sending an unceasing pulse running through Bull, again and again; intense enough to _really_ start overloading him, but not enough to push him too close to the edge.

Not yet, at least. Though he does grind down against Bull at the same time, just for the feeling of it. Just because he _can_.

"AHHH! KADAN! FUCK!" There's no mercy, no respite, just that sense of simulation that Bull can't quite get enough of, but also is too much, and… his teeth clench, his head pressing down into the pillows in an effort to cope. 

Not that Bull has any choice but to cope, right now. 

His eye nearly closes, the tremors visibly shaking his lower half. "Kadan… want you, too… please!" 

Dorian lets the magic slacken off gradually but not entirely, not wanting to leave Bull bereft. Or complacent.

"Do you, now?" he says, knowingly. "I suppose it would be a shame to waste all that pent-up energy inside you…"

He sits back and leans over to the pack that was dropped beside the bed when they arrived, quickly finding the bottle of oil Bull uses for lubricant and pouring some out, and then moving into a position where he can start stroking Bull with it; oh so very slowly.

"Nnnnnnghh… yes… oh…" Bull lifts his head to watch, tracking those slender, dark fingers move over his very, very eager shaft. His chest heaving from too much going on, and his breath broken before it even gets out.

"…lyrium… does wear off, right?" It must. Eventually. Yes? Because Bull is aware he's very, very much at Dorian's mercy, and if Dorian wants him to flip the tables and narrative later, he will either need to be tired out, or willing. 

"Oh yes," Dorian says, easily. "Eventually."

He lifts himself up, holding the other man's very interested cock in place so that he can slowly sink down onto it. And whilst he's relaxed, it _is_ still quite sudden (to say nothing of sizeable) so the soul-deep groan he makes in the process is entirely genuine, and not simply designed to wind Bull up.

Not that he'll mind if it does.

"Oh, _fuck_ , you feel good," Dorian gasps, taking a moment to enjoy it before he recovers himself enough to concentrate again. "Now… where was I..?"

It always feels so perfect when he's inside his lover again. Bull enjoys any which way they go about it, but the ability to watch his face, to see his belly clench in, to watch every reaction to the way they slide and move…

Bull's hands try to move, but the most he can do is flex his wrists, and then ineffectually punch down into the bed. He wants to grab those hips and guide them, pull him tighter. Rock them. Instead, he has to… to wait.

It's… "I… think you were going to make me beg for something? Uhhhh… cookies?" He's _trying_ so hard to focus, but the grip to his dick and the pressure on his torso is making his head go places. Weird (but good) places. "You're hot when you're nasty."

Dorian leans in closer, with a deliberately-sharp roll of the hips. "I'm glad you approve. You seem to be taking it very well…"

His hands ghost over Bull's skin again, pushing a mixture of warm pleasure and rough, cold pain all at once. It's the kind of thing that can feel really, _really_ good, if you get the balance just right. And if the recipient likes it reasonably rough.

"I can take a _lot_ more." Bull should not say these things. And yet, he absolutely should. He's craving more of that movement, and the confusing jangle against his own nerves is… kindling, and sharpening, and…

"…don't… you need, too?" A sudden tendril of concern. Not worry, not panic, just… consideration. He squints very slightly. "Kadan… is this… you like this?" Enough? It's not just for me?

" _Like_ this?" Dorian repeats. "Do you know how _hot_ you look right now? I'd be happy just to do it, but having you buried balls-deep inside me at the same time… it's taking more than a little concentration not to just ride myself blind whilst you watch."

Fingertips trace teasingly over Bull's chest, the waves of magic fading down again… but it's clear from the look in Dorian's eyes that it won't last. "And… more, you say?"

Lines of glittering golden light start spreading out from his hands, sliding their way around Bull like slender rope, soft and cool and gentle… and then suddenly _flooding_ with intense static in pulses that rise and fall, and rise again. And again.

Bull _needs_ to move. Needs to! Dorian is right the fuck there, and he needs to fuck up into him, and pull him down, and… every muscle and tendon whipcords under his skin as he roars in defiance. He _needs_ , and he can't, and the helplessness is something he's totally not used to. 

His mind just… flinches for a moment, hovering over a waterfall that splits in two. 

He could go under. He could. It was never his 'thing'. He never liked it – at work or in play – but he could do it, if it was just right.

More often than not, it wasn't right.

And it isn't that he doesn't trust Dorian to make it good, or safe, or… do everything he can to make it that way, it's… just that Bull serves in other ways. In active ways. In giving and taking, both, but… not really in surrender.

The most likely surrender is to utter exhaustion. Either from sexual encounter, alcohol, fighting, or lack of sleep. (Pleasure, or pain, or a mix of both.)

So he rides out the messages flooding his body, right until he can work out his tongue again. And then he locks eyes, and his lips curl in a fierce growl. "Is that… all you got?"

Dorian gives a soft, deadly little laugh, leaning in again. "Not in the slightest," he purrs. "But I don't want to break you _too_ quickly… not when you've got that _lovely_ look in your eyes."

It won't be as long as he'd like, however. Holding a man as big and strong as Bull in place like this is surprisingly draining, and even though it doesn't show (yet), he's starting to feel it.

He charges the lines of magical energy surrounding his lover's body all over again, waiting until the sensations _really_ hit the other man before he starts to ride him, in time with the pulses of pleasurepain, very much trying to drive him wild.

And _fuck_ , but it feels good.

Huge, huge wings. Massive horns. Blood that he can smell for days. Bull can remember riding that dragon, his fingers claggy with her blood. The thrill through his system, and the vision of Dorian Pavus striding towards him, full of death and fury and beautiful beyond anything he'd ever seen. He can remember the way his arousal seemed to flood every part of his body, from horn-tips to toe-nails. From skin to muscle to bone. 

And if he thought that was hot, watching his beloved ride him with such focus, such intent… the amulet, key, and other half of his own tooth-shard… swinging around his neck, so close to the throat he wants to bite. The chest he wants to claw and push until he's on his back. 

The need to take over, to surge up and claim… it's like an impossibly strong wave and he's got no outlet to let it breach. 

Dorian said he'd beg. Bull is sure he won't.

"When you can't keep that up… when you've spent your last spell… when you'd be down to just the dagger in your boot…" His heart is thudding. So, so hard. "I'll throw you down and _claim_ what's mine. I. Will. **Own.** You." Even if it's after he's come, because he's not going to take much more of this, even if he tries to hold back. It's too much, too intense, too… too. 

"If you think you can break me: _do it_."

"I know you will," Dorian tells him. "I _know_. I'm counting on it. But this time… I'm going to make you work for it first. I'm going to fight with everything I have to keep you down, so that when you _finally_ struggle free, you will have earned it…"

Another roll of the hips, his own body singing with pleasure, and he makes the magical lines flare again; hot and cold chasing along them at the same time as the surge of sensation, trying to drag it higher and higher.

And then he drops his head back, revelling in the feeling; letting the air behind him flood with light, haloing him in shimmering gold. It's showy, yes, and it uses up some of his magic to do it, but _appearance is everything_ , and he knows what a difference it can make.

This battle is as much mental as it is physical, after all. And he's determined to win on both levels.

"Don't… think if I… come that you _win_ , kadan. It isn't about first. It's about _last_." And Bull is nearly there, despite his best efforts. His fists slam again, and the strength that pulled a dragon's jaw in two fights against the magic warping reality around him.

Fear doesn't even come near his mind, though. A little pride, perhaps. A lot of respect. And so, so much hunger. 

(And it feels _good_ to hurl his whole body into something, and know he can't break it. Won't shatter it. Won't render into worthless shards. It feels. _Good_.)

It hurts to resist, but he does so, anyway. As if the coils were rope, he pushes and strains, drinking the sensations in wherever they touch. The pain isn't sharp, now, it's somewhere near the back of his head, below his horns, and there in the throbbing pulse in his cock. 

" **Arikadan**." He snarls it, twined in praise and accusation and a promise and satisfaction and everything else beside. He lets the climax hit, still battering his body against the invisible hand, feeling the pressure lessen only slightly and stir up even more feelings in his chest. 

He's come, but he's far from over. 

That makes Dorian flat-out _growl_ in pleasure, riding out the other man's climax whilst deliberately biting back his own, wanting to last, and loving the way it makes his body shake with the repressed bliss.

And with the effort of holding Bull down. Which is still getting harder to do, though it's only just starting to show.

"Now _that_ was good," Dorian says. "But the question is… how much more can you take?"

"You'll… need to see… won't you? Qunari. Great stamina. **Better** dicks." Bull says that with a smirk, his chest working hard over the air, and his blood thundering in his veins. "You said you'd break me. _I'm waiting_."

It is very much not wise to taunt the man pinning you down. Bull revels in that knowledge. 

" _Excellent_ dicks," Dorian agrees. "Or, the one I have intimate experience of, at least."

And then he smiles. "You just don't know when to quit, do you? I _love_ that about you…"

He arches forwards, so that he can give another (over-dramatic) wave of the hand, sending fresh lines of light to yank Bull's legs apart and then trail over his groin, before a very localised point of _pressure_ starts to push into his ass.

"Quit?" Bull snorts, though his eye rolls up at the threat-promise he can feel, and only the part where he can only use his internal muscles to chase the pressure frustrates him. "In this… for the long haul. Have to rip my limbs off… have to bring a mountain down on me before I'd even _pause_." 

Part of it is about talking as big as you need. Right now, it's what Bull feels, though. He _wants_ to challenge him. To further, higher, deeper, harder… "Do you even feel it when you fuck me like this? Wouldn't you rather be in me, or are you afraid you'd come too soon?" 

It isn't that it doesn't feel very lovely. It's more that he would prefer it was as lovely as possible for Dorian, too. "Or are you planning to watch and see what my dick sees when it slams up into you?" 

"I am still _impaled_ on you," Dorian points out. "So don't think for one second that I'm not enjoying myself. I can feel _every_ reaction you have to the things I'm doing to you… and I _love_ that."

Speaking of which… he _slams_ in with the pressure-fucking in Bull's ass, at the same time as charging the lines criss-crossing his body, pouring sensation into all of it and trying to ratchet the pleasurepain as high as he can.

Bull crashes his horns into the bed, trying his damndest to buck up and into him, and down and onto the magic currently boring him open. "Maybe I'll wrap your dick in leather when I'm loose. Keep you hard no matter what. Ride _you_ until you're begging for the fuck you **really** need, when I take you so hard your ass twitches for a _month_ , and you come every time you cough…"

His head lifts, and he glowers (lovingly, but also furiously). "Kiss me. If you're gonna fuck me, _kiss_ me. I want your teeth, kadan. Like the one around your neck. Fucking **bite** me."

He's grinding and clenching around thin air, wanting to move to get it just right, snarling at how good but not perfect it is. "Gonna fuck you so hard you're _sure_ we're one thing, split in two. Or at least that your _ass is_."

"So many _promises_ ," Dorian purrs. "I do hope you're conscious enough by the end to make good on some of them…"

He leans in closer, so they're little more than a breath apart, but just further than Bull will be able to reach if he strains against the magic. "You really are _magnificent_ like this," he says. "And all _mine_."

And now he arches in close enough to start kissing roughly down the side of Bull's neck, nipping and – why the fuck not? – _biting_ as he goes, and sufficiently strong to leave a mark or two in the process. He accompanies it with a sudden, sharp swipe of magic across Bull's chest, which will feel like being raked with fingernails, but doesn't require Dorian to actually move his hands. Because magic is helpful like that.

That makes Bull _roar_ , bellowing like he's in full battle fury, the pain and emotion behind it – that it's _for_ him – going right to his groin and making his cock twitch and ache all over. It _feels_ like he's moving, because he's certainly trying hard enough, and that attempt has him spilling a second, shorter and sharper time. 

It hurts. It hurts _good_. It hurts better than good.

Bull turns his head, touching what he can with his lips. "You're a necromancer. Even if I'm dead you can shock me back to life, remember? Mmm, gonna owe you… a _lot_ of revenge, kadan… you hurt me just _right_." 

Though he does need a moment or two, panting, and twitching away from more touches. 

Dorian is _really_ close now, so he decides this is the perfect opportunity to deal with that… and he's still coasting a renewed power-high at the way that _roar_ echoes through his blood.

Yes. Fuck, _yes_.

"You do seem to enjoy it," he remarks, and then throws out his hands, making those lines of magical energy rise up to snake around him as well, flooding with sensation for one last (dramatic) _push_ over the edge.

And he cries out in release as he finally comes, riding out the feeling against his lover's cock until the waves die down and he's left with his head dropped back, panting in bliss.

"… _fuck_ , but that was good," he manages, voice rough.

It certainly looked good. Bull loves Dorian's flair for the dramatic at the best of times, but when he's unable to do anything but watch, and let himself be used for his mate's pleasure? Oh shit, but it's so damn hot. 

The taut lines, the flush across his chest. The tension around his mouth. The way his belly twitches and his balls press into Bull's own stomach… the swirls of colour and power, so perfectly _safe_ and entirely deadly, all coiled into one… 

And the fact that it's _him_.

Sentiment – post-coital and otherwise – sends a stranger pang through him. Not the need to take and own, but… just to reach out and hold his face, or brush over his chest. He wants so, so badly… and it makes his lips curl in the faintest of sadness. But not real sadness. Except… yes. Bitterness in with all the pleasure, but one that he'll resolve before they both go to sleep.

Delayed, not denied. That works.

"Yeah," he rasps. "That was." He wants to cuddle, and the affection brimming unresolved is a strange new sensation. Not unpleasant, but… different. Even at their harshest, the care and concern is never gone, and that… that means he knows it's right. No matter the game, it's _for_ them. "You… need a minute? Cause I could stare at you all night, looking like that."

Dorian smiles, looking a little hazy from pleasure, and from the look on the other man's face. "I've still got you, haven't I?" he says, with a flick of the hand to increase the pressure just a tiny bit more, for emphasis… though it's hard to miss the part where that hand is shaking now. "But, I won't lie… it won't be long before _you_ have _me_."

He leans in again, kissing Bull some more but softer this time, sensing the need in his lover and wanting to fulfil it, at least a little. Plus, kissing is _good_.

"Now, tell me… shall I burn myself out in one last _push_ , or would you like me to surrender gracefully..?"

The kiss is good, a reconnection, a moment to breathe and float. Just… dragging the moment out that little bit longer. It's _good_ , and when it ends, Bull feels more things snap inside his ribs. 

"Take us both out," Bull answers. "Blow both our minds. Never surrender without the fight of your life, kadan, and you well know that. Show me how much you need to be mine." 

Dorian expected no less, but it's still polite to offer. This kind of play _is_ very intense, after all, even if you're a Qunari. Or a very kinky Tevinter.

"All right," he says. "But just remember… you asked for this…"

He drops his head back again, reaching deep inside for all the mana he has left, making it well up and up until he _feels_ as though he's holding it, and the room is glowing, and the lines of magic are glowing, and…

…he meets Bull's eye. Smiles. And _smashes_ outwards with every remaining drop of magic; an invisible tidal wave of sensation that crashes into both of them simultaneously, making him howl in ecstasy as a second, sharper climax chases in the wake of the first. It's bliss. It's release. It's _magic_ …

…and then all of the light sputters into nothingness; the pressure vanishing inside and out, and he's left on top of his lover, gasping and shaking and _gloriously_ defenceless.

It's either just as the bliss hits, or right after, but the minute he's free… Bull has his arms wrapped tightly around Dorian's shoulders, pawing at his neck, hugging him fiercely. The magic blast has his body jittering and jumping, and it's nearly impossible to keep breathing through it. Even a Qunari has limits, and his are crossed, even if it won't take him too long to recover.

But for right now, all he wants to do is hold on. Hold on, and press Dorian into his embrace, and press down on his ass, making sure he doesn't move from where he's staked. It causes more jerks of his hips at the tighter connection, and his knees splay, then close, then splay…

"… _kadan_ …" Holy fucking dragon balls. Bull is going to need to make good on what he promised, but when he's remembered how breathing works. It's in, then out, right? Or out, then in? 

He promised. He promised… and although his body is protesting and demanding he rest… Bull pulls Dorian harder down, then (a little less energetically than usual) flips him onto his back, and drops his forehead onto his lover's. Hands finding his, and pinning them either side of his head. Even if he can't move, or do anything with it just yet… the torturous act alone tells a story of how utterly devoted he is. 

Dorian looks fucked-out and punch-drunk, and he can't stop smiling. He doesn't offer the slightest resistance as he's flipped, though it's questionable whether he even could if he tried.

"…thought you might like that," he purrs. "Going to need to sleep for a week, but it was worth it… _fuck_ , but you're hot when you're desperate… and even if you _never_ let me do that again, it was worth it…"

"You shitting me? You can _absolutely_ do that again. Just… not every night, or we might end the world by not saving it." Which would be a shame, because the world might end before their natural lives do, and that would vastly limit the amount of orgasms that remain to be had. 

It's just maths, at the end of the day. And Bull is good at maths. When he isn't fucked out of his head.

It kills his system to move, because everything _aches_ and throbs, but he manages a very, very ginger roll of his hips. "…you're not sleeping soon, though." His voice is beyond the Deep Roads, slaked from rock that has never been touched. "I have a promise to keep to you, remember? Turnabout…" 

Not immediately at full pelt, though. Or his heart might actually explode. But the look in his eye says he wholly intends on keeping his end of the bargain. "I love when you're eager. When you're showing off – even if you don't need to, to convince me – and I love when you're so sure and in control."

And then the growl could actually come from a dragon. "…but I love it even more when you're helpless. When you _can't_ keep control. When you're a slave to your own needs, and the only thing you can do is _take_ what you're given. And _be_ taken. Broken by bliss. Ravished out of your mind… raving and thrashing… and the quiet, just after, when you can do nothing but breathe…"

This makes Dorian shiver _extremely_ happily. "That's my favourite part too," he says. "And you're so very, _very_ good at it. And… you _do_ need to exact your revenge. I pinned you down, after all. Overloaded your body with sensation. Rode you like my own, personal plaything…"

He smiles some more, well-aware he'll pay for every word, and regretting not a single one.

"Yes… terrible, terrible Vint magister-wannabe… trying to enslave me… don't you know your _place_?" Bull does thrust, then, ignoring the way it makes him _burn_ to do it, and then he pulls back and out, his cock hitting the bed as he slides, silkily, to his feet. 

"Last chance to run… you won't be given a second key, kadan." 

Not that he'd let him, but he wants to twist the moment that little bit sharper. And also buy himself a moment to find what he's looking for. 

"Oh, I know my place… and it certainly doesn't involve running," Dorian says.

He knows what he's letting himself in for; the general idea at least, if not Bull's chosen specifics this time around. And he wants it. _Badly_.

For now, he lies where he is and tries to look like someone you _want_ to ravish. Not that he expects Bull to need the encouragement, but that won't stop him enjoying it regardless.

"You've shown me what your people excel at, now it's time you saw what an entire people devoted to one path can teach you." Not that Bull believes in the path, but he will happily steal any ideas he likes, from whatever source he likes. And also, it's part of their own, personal game.

Bull grabs Dorian's left wrist, and then slams until the man _has_ to roll and flip over onto his belly, before something breaks or dislocates. Soft, strong rope loops around his wrist, and the other is wrangled to meet behind his back. The lattice work he uses is unyieldingly strong, pinning his arms helplessly behind him. "A mage should know his place… should be handled at all times. An _arvaarad_ , to hold back the evil… to keep you safe from yourself…"

A slightly flexible interpretation, one more forgiving of both their feelings, but one he feels is valid, all the same. "And if you use your magic to excess… you should be reminded of your _place_." 

What snaps around his neck is cold metal, tingling with the enchantment laced through it. A low level buzz of vigour, of stamina, and there's a click as the second key turns in the padlock. Bull leans down to kiss just above the collar. "These ropes are my hands, my will. This collar is my hold over you. I keep you. I keep you safe, and I keep you _mine_. And every time you step beyond yourself… I will push you back seven times more…"

Dorian gasps as he's pulled around, but doesn't resist; the sensation of being bound like that knocking him into a very strange headspace. And whilst he obviously doesn't approve of the _reality_ behind the scenario, the _fantasy_ version is just fine.

"I step beyond myself a _lot_ ," he points out, softly; not pushy but not weak, either. "So you're going to have your work cut out for you…"

He gives a tug on the ropes, just to test them, to feel how firmly he's held in place. He has no desire to break free – not yet, anyway – but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy the feeling. It's a _good_ feeling, and it trips so many old _and_ new fantasies as the echoes of it run through his blood.

And oh, but he's exhausted. Not sleepy, but physically. Which… probably means he'll be more _pliable_.

(Probably).

"Such a good thing I am in prime form, then, isn't it? I may have a blind-spot, but I know how to compensate for that." Bull trails his fingers over Dorian's shoulders, then ties a silken scarf around his eyes, blocking out his vision. "The universe gave me a good challenge, but… I always win."

Bull goes to the side, and picks something up. There's a subtle scrape all the way up the back of one of Dorian's legs… something pointy and – well – horny. Then down the other. It's Dorian's staff, and it's only a moment before there's very sure hands lashing Dorian's ankles to it, spread as wide as they will go. 

"You belong to _me_ , mage. And I will drive any thought otherwise from your mind. Do you begin to understand? From the moment your eyes open in the morning, until the same moment the next day. In this world, and in the Fade. You." Knot. "Are." Cinch. "Mine."

Bull lifts the staff, hoisting his ass up, and leaving Dorian with no way to support his wobble. Another kiss of metal, this time around his shaft and balls. It tingles in an entirely different way. Perhaps it shouldn't be an _arvaarad_ standard to use enchanted items, but fuck it. Bull slaps Dorian's cock just enough to sting, and then drops the staff to make him bounce down. Which he immediately follows up by landing on top of him, crushing the mage's hands between them. 

" _Fuck_ ," Dorian gasps, as he hits the bed hard, very much taken by surprise by the move. And then… "… _fuck!_ " again, as Bull clambers on top of him. He's helpless, and he knows it, and the juxtaposition between that and where he was mentally just a few moments ago is heady indeed.

"… _yours_ ," he cries out, pressing his head into the bed and trying to adjust to the _very_ strange sensations running through him. "Please. I'll do anything you want. You d-don't have to hurt me…"

But _hurt me_ is what his voice is crying. Loudly.

"I know I don't _have_ to. But I **want** to." Bull revels in the concept, and the more Dorian reacts, the surer he becomes. The more sturdy, and assured. He's not ready to fuck him through the bed for hours just yet, but that means more time to play with his food.

Hand over the back of his neck, over the collar, and he deliberately puts his weight where it'll make it difficult for Dorian to breathe. "You think you can drink lyrium, go on a rampage, and just say 'sorry'? There's always a price to pay. Just be grateful it's me who came to collect."

He waits a moment longer, using his bulk to best advantage, and inhaling the tang of sweat and fear-need that Dorian _reeks_ of, little feral noises designed to put the prey-response through his hindbrain. The undercurrent in his voice, the shift in his body-language… oh, but it's so, so ripe. 

"I like it when you scream, and know no matter what you say, it won't sway me one bit. I like it when you realise it's pointless to bargain. You made a deal, you borrowed power that wasn't yours. _Now_ you'll pay for it."

Bull pushes off, and suddenly there's fingers cutting deeply with nails (where he still has them) all down the insides of Dorian's spread-wide thighs. 

" _Fuck!_ " Dorian howls again, arching in pain and clenching his hands tightly in the ropes. "D-do your worst… it's only a matter of time before I can… before I can…"

Instinct makes him want to resist, even in some small way, but the _weight_ on his mind is dragging him down, and _down_.

"…y-you can't control me. Only _contain_ me. And I can make it worth your while to be merciful…"

This much is true. He definitely _could_. But he doesn't expect to be given the opportunity, not one bit. It's fun to offer, though, because he _would_. **Did**.

Bull laughs, and then his hands are pushing Dorian's legs apart, until his hips protest the angle. Pushing until sinew screams and his body simply can't take any more. He spits on his pink and still-dripping hole, and then there's three fingers entering him to the knuckle. 

"Oh, but you see, _I can_. And I don't need magical rope, or _qamek_ , or a templar… I don't even need anything beyond my two hands. You were _made_ to yield to me. It is your _purpose_. Your mind and body know this… you. Will. Always. **Yield**."

Bull's fingers twist, pushing up against the gland deep inside, pounding it with no mercy. His whole body sings with the way Dorian's reacting to him, the not-so-subtle tells that he's going so far under. He wants to drag the descent out, but only so long. His hand pulls back, and he paces away. 

To do something. Quietly. And invisibly. 

That makes Dorian's whole body _drop_ in shock, as the tension falls out of him along with those fingers, only to be replaced by a much more _complex_ apprehension.

" _Please_ ," he gasps again, and he's falling into the moment, into the fantasy, hard and fast. "Please… I'll yield… I'll give you anything… we can… you don't have to…"

He can _feel_ the way the begging is useless, and it's a heady sensation indeed; like a cloak of stone falling around him, making him aware not just of being caught, but what it _really_ means. Instinct makes him struggle again, though there's no strength behind it, and he feels as though he's burnt out more than just his magical energy.

When Bull is back, he puts a knee on the staff between Dorian's spread ankles, and his hand comes down on his neck again. He's razor-focussed, absolutely sure of his movements and his goal. 

He tilts his other hand, and a line of stark, hot-wet fluid scalds down from one shoulderblade diagonally to his spine, then another up to finish the crude V. The candlewax hardens quickly, cleaving to his skin, and flushing the area with the excess heat. 

"I'll mark what's mine so everyone knows."

"Fuck… oh _fuck_ …!" Dorian gasps, but the shock quickly falls out of him, to be replaced with a warm, sinking feeling: not in his skin, but in his head. "I… yours… _yours_ … I promise…"

He's shaking all over, as if he was cold, but – for once – he really isn't. Even before the candlewax. And he's not struggling now, not at all – not even during the initial shock of pain – and instead lies beneath the other man, so very still aside from the slightly-visible trembling.

"…won't resist, won't fight… please… please…" he murmurs, though it's debatable how much of it is conscious choice and how much is his mouth just running whilst his mind drifts faraway.

"I know you won't. So what is it you're begging for, mage?" Bull puts the candlestick to one side, and runs a finger around the cooled wax, tugging at the skin just around the mark he's left. "What is it you think I'll give you?" 

Then, yanking by the hair, pulled up like a bent bow: "What gives you the right to ask anything of _me_?"

Dorian is so far gone that coming up with a coherent answer to this, be it honest, flippant, or anything in between, is well beyond him. His mind, normally so crowded with words, feels like a cavernous void, deep beneath the ground, and he is just a tiny point at the very centre; lost in the vastness.

But it isn't frightening. Or unpleasant. He can feel pain, and threat, oh yes, but not on the same level as he usually would. They're no less intense, no less insistent… but they exist in a completely different realm.

"…w-want to make you happy…" he manages, though the words almost bleed into each other, as though he's _very_ , very drunk. "I… yours, all yours… _please_ …"

Bull feels that like he's been dipped in lyrium, then set on fire with _gaatlok_. In all the best ways possible. The fight's gone out of Dorian, and he's hardly had to apply any half-dangerous level of force at all.

Good. Because those who like pain don't always know when to say 'stop'. In fact, they frequently forget it exists. And Bull likes to play with it, in fact… he's something of a connoisseur… but he likes the more psychological elements even more.

"That's right," he purrs, tugging Dorian's head this way and that, playing with him like a ragdoll, just to watch how broken and submissive his beloved is. "That's right. You exist to please me, and only me. You do as I say, as I need."

Now he doesn't need to ratchet up the force, he can play the strings of his well-tuned instrument. He lets go of his hair, and picks up the candlestick again. "You're going to lie still whilst I continue. You may talk, unless I tell you to stop." He doesn't ask for understanding, just moves right onto his next task: drawing thin lines of molten wax from hip to ankle, oh so very slowly. "There's a good boy. When I'm done punishing you, we'll see what happens next. But you know I need to keep going, don't you? You know you don't deserve my forgiveness just yet."

" _Ohhh_ ," Dorian breathes, at the way the sensation races through him: heat, a sting of bright pain, and then dull, thudding warmth that's like being wrapped in heavy blankets, still pulling him down, and _down_.

"…yes… yes… do anything you say… _anything_ … please…"

He's not moving at all now, save for the slow rise and fall of his breath, which sharpens ever so slightly each time the wax hits his skin. And the world feels as though it consists only of this: only of them, in this space, in this moment, and _that_ is the strangest kind of liberation, because even bound and caught as he is, all the other ties are severed and he feels _free_.

"Good boy." Bull's praise is all too genuine, as he watches Dorian coast, only half tethered to his body. Or, perhaps, entirely tethered for once. He knows how hard that mind normally works, how it never stops worrying, balancing, re-balancing… 

And being able to hold a shade up, to keep the shadows from dancing… it's a gift. A gift that he's honoured to give, and glad it's working as it should. His own body still aches from earlier, but his thoughts are as clear and sure as any blade.

Speaking of…

"I will remove the wax. You will remain as still as possible, so there is no chance of injury. The wax will be gone, but my mark will remain as long as you remember it there. Every time you stretch your shoulders. Every time you straighten your spine…" He puts the webbing between his fingers and thumb on one ankle, and starts to push up, sloughing off the wax to reveal the slightly softer skin below. 

" _Yes_ ," Dorian gasps, because some kind of impulse makes him need to reply, or perhaps think he should. " _Anything_."

He carries on lying still, which is surprisingly easy given the way his body feels like lead, and even the strange sensations as the wax is lifted from his skin don't do enough to disturb that. He murmurs incoherently, soft and _very_ much surrendered, at the touches, letting them happen, letting the other man do as he wishes… and why it's so easy for Dorian to let go this time, he isn't sure, but he's distantly aware that it's something he'll think on when things such as 'thinking' become possible again.

"…yours… yours… need you…"

"I know, kadan. I know." He kisses just above the blindfold, right as his hand shucks off the last from one leg. He goes to the other, repeating the steady gesture. "You're mine. I'm yours. And you will _know_ it, all the way to your soul."

Bull moves to straddle his hips, and pulls out his blade. The one that – only earlier today – had sunk into a dragon's skull. He slips it under the twin chains around Dorian's neck, jangling them to remind him they're there, then slips it out and moves to slice away the V on his back. "My horns on you. Your house on me. My heart is yours. Your heart is mine." 

The wax falls free, and Bull puts the knife just beyond harm's way. Then he grabs hold of the rope-bound wrists for purchase as he slides his half-hard cock back into his lover. "Work me hard, kadan. Get me ready to fuck you until there's nothing but us, forever."

" _Yes_ ," Dorian murmurs. "Yes… only you… only us… take me… take what's yours…"

He's so very relaxed, so letting Bull push back in feels almost as easy as breathing. He tries to arch up just a little, distantly aware that it will make the angle that much _better_ , and desperately wanting to give Bull _everything_ despite the fact that he can't move. Or form whole sentences. The _emotion_ is certainly there.

"Do you know how truly beautiful you are? Not just your body… but you?" Bull is not shy with his praise at the best of times, but right now it bubbles up in his chest, as if to not say it would cause harm. "Do you? What a mess of thoughts and feelings and drive and intelligence you are? Do you know how fucking _much_ you mean to me?"

He uses the ropes around Dorian's wrists, pulling him back, slowly building his movements to let his arousal rise steadily. His body is somewhat wrought, so he's not going to punish himself too much by trying to make it any faster.

Not when he can knot and twist through dark hair. Slide a finger over the few marks that do show on his lover's near-pristine skin. A sprinkle of freckles, a faint mark of a scar. 

"Owning you… is the greatest honour. Controlling you. _Loving_ you. When you yield… I control the strongest thing I've ever met. And I've fought _dragons_. They are nothing compared to you."

The praise makes Dorian smile, though it's the kind of smile that is just genuinely happy, rather than smug or proud. He _is_ happy. Happy he makes Bull happy. Happy he's… enough.

Because he is. Isn't he? It feels like he actually is.

"…love being yours…" he manages; needing to speak to let the emotions out, but still having to work hard for every word. "Love how you make me feel. Love _you_."

Bull doesn't announce his intentions. Instead, he keeps hold of the ropes, then slides his hand down to Dorian's breastbone. With a grunt, he moves so his knees push between splayed-wide ones. Toes over the staff that keep them apart. Kneeling, and with Dorian impaled upon him, lying over his chest. He moves to stroke the bound and now-enchanted cock that's suddenly accessible, and curls his fingers below Dorian's throat, holding his head back. 

"If you ever doubt how I feel… touch your finger. Touch your throat. Remember my hands on you. Remember me inside of you. And remember me holding you. Remember that no one will ever visit my bed again, and no one but you has _ever_ visited my heart."

He can feel the man twitch and move on his prick with every stroke to his cock, and it starts an answering, kindling flame in his own gut. 

" _Ohyes_ ," Dorian gasps, at the shift in position and at the words accompanying it. He feels… bared. _Exposed_. And, at the same time… safe. Because it's just for them. Because he can let Bull see things no one else ever has.

"…please… yours… all yours… need you…"

Precisely what he's begging for, he isn't sure. His mind is simply too faraway, though nothing about that feels bad or unwelcome. Oh no. Right now, it's one of the best feelings in the world.

"You have me, kadan. You have me." Bull runs his hand over Dorian's cock, stroking familiar patterns, easing him through a slow, slow build up. "Tell me… how your magic felt, before… show me the world through your eyes, as I show your body bliss." 

Bull focuses on the skin under his hands, letting the weight and position stoke his own flames. He pushes fingers under a collarbone, down to a pec. Tweaks at a nipple, then counts each rib, one by one. He loves the knowledge that Dorian is entirely under his sway, and split and spread and unable to do anything but accept whatever contact he offers. It makes his spine tighten, all the way down to his ass. 

"…felt… like _everything_ … like flooding light into darkness… like playing reality as some vast musical instrument… it…"

Dorian falters, the stimulation overruling any other mental activity for a long moment, before he pulls together just enough focus to continue.

"… _good_ … knew it made you happy… want to give you that… want to give you all of me and know it's OK…"

"It is." Bull's voice is fierce, when he says it, but fierce in all the right ways. "All of you. Your magic, your good days, your bad days… days when you just want to be slapped down and fucked raw… days when you want to be teased and toyed with… days when you want to misbehave, or show off… it makes me happiest when you're free to be all you want to be… when you don't need to hold anything back, or second-guess…"

Bull kisses his neck, just a little. "You left quite an array of marks of your own. I think we should match, don't you?" He doesn't wait for an answer, wrapping his lips around a pulse-point and suckling, nibbling, biting. He builds and releases the pressure and tension, just as his hand starts to urge more blood to flow into Dorian's shaft, pressing down near the base and dragging up to the tip. 

That makes Dorian cry out in bliss, trying to arch back and bare his throat all the more. He _wants_ marks. His main reason for doing the same to Bull was to make sure Bull would return the favour, and even now, out of his head as he is, he's still pleased with himself.

The stimulation is starting to get _really_ intense, though, and he's distantly aware that the enchantments around both his neck and his cock are making it _sharper_. And whilst that's not in any way bad – on the contrary, when he's coherent enough, he'll be impressed – it _is_ going to make him scream more. And sooner.

"… _need_ …" he gasps, trying to express the feeling and only sort-of managing it. "…need… please…"

Bull leaves one particularly dark mark, moaning as he suckles and worries the skin under his lips. He wants them to show, so everyone can see the traces of their passion on each other. Not that anyone doesn't know what they get up to… but visible proof is… it's… something special. 

A slurping kiss up to Dorian's ear, so his breath tickles when he asks: "Need… what, kadan? And if you think that is begging… you need to be a _lot_ more convincing…"

"…s-so… intense… please… _please_ … need you to f-fuck my brains out… need it hard… need _you_ … amatus, please…"

Dorian shivers from head to toe, his body starting to shake again now that the stimulation is building beyond the point that he can contain it. The need in him is no less strong, but it is decidedly more physical now, and his breath is getting a little desperate.

"Oh… my heart… I told you. I told you I would take my revenge… I told you I would take you seven steps beyond… you're not _nearly_ punished enough." But Bull is most certainly enjoying the tone in his voice, and the way he's trembling. "There will be nothing left but my name in your head, when I am done… you will love me as much as you hate me." 

He presses his palm over Dorian's heart, his hips stilling and only the hand around his cock moving. But that, at least, goes faster. Firmer. Playing his body for all he's worth, and simply enjoying the way it makes him twitch on his dick. 

Dorian has known deep down, all along, that this would be the answer, but he had to try. And… whilst he won't fight the order, won't fight the other man's will, he also _needs_ , and unless he's flat-out told to stop saying as much, he'll continue to.

He suspects this is the point as well. He knows Bull enjoys the begging.

"T-then… _please_ … make it be enough," he gasps. "Whatever you need to do… do it… please…"

"It will be enough. It will be enough when you are gone. When you know nothing but bliss, joy, heat, hunger… when you know how _insanely_ much I love you… how you drive me out of my mind… when the pleasure crests, and crests, and crests… but it never goes down, because the feelings never go down…" Bull knows he's a bastard. Knows he's pushing at limits that are hard-coded into a body.

But that's the point. And when you go beyond your limits, you see something… new. You know something new. And you are someone new. 

"You don't come until you can no longer remember what it is to come." 

Bull twists his wrist, his palm sliding over the head with each jerk. Without the ring, he knows the gestures would be more than enough. More than enough. He can feel the twitches and arches, and he puts his lips back on Dorian's throat, marking him harder, and larger. He wants Dorian to utterly lose it, and with his mana spent and his mind under… he can do things that normally there'd be a risk he could get out from, consciously or not. 

Over and over. Clawing scratch marks over his chest, pinching his hip, starting to rut up again. He wants to feel those climaxes that never stop, before he gives him one that will. 

Dorian gives a low, almost wounded howl at that; not in defiance but certainly in desperation. His body is shaking all over, struggling not to break free or escape, but to fall over an edge it can't quite reach.

"…p-please…" he keeps gasping, but he's not really doing it on any conscious level now; the words falling on instinct alone from a body pushed too far and a mind pushed too deep. "… _please_ …"

He's distantly aware that the words won't make a difference, and some part of him needs them not to. Needs to know what lies beyond, in that place where everything goes still again.

"I'll take care of you," Bull promises, by way of an answer. Which is to say, give him what he really needs, not what he thinks he does. "I'll always take care of you, kadan. Ride the waves, I'll keep you afloat."

Each twitch, each breath… Bull sinks into the inevitable rhythm of it. It strokes his own arousal, pulling him inexorably along. It feels like years of touching, of caressing both soft and sharp. It feels like it's taken all night, and he turns Dorian's head to lick into his mouth and kiss him in synch with the jut of his hips. 

When he feels the shaking start to build and not wane, hitting a plateau that doesn't drop, he grabs the knife and slices through the rope around his wrists. The knife is moved, and then he has Dorian face-down on the bed with two hands on his hips to slam him fiercely backwards as he fucks him with all the strength he still has. 

"Good boy, kadan. Good. So good. Take it all, take me all… gonna ride you so hard you hear my damn heartbeat… that's it… that's it…" 

He reaches around for the ring on his dick again, but now he's using it to push back into his balls and tease that it might come off. Unlike him. "You need it, don't you? You need this?"

Dorian's mind is sinking beyond desperation now, into a place that's hard to describe in words, because it's so far removed from them. That's not to say the physical need goes away – because it _really_ doesn't – but instead that it exists on a different level, the way you learn to adapt to a sensation that persists beyond any attempt to control it.

He _needs_. He _wants_. He _loves_. The mental place is all of these things, and _more_ than these things; primal and simple and yet also infinitely complex at the same time.

"… _yes_ …" he chokes out, but it takes all his focus to do it, and it's the only word he can form right now, and then only because the direct question is enough of an impulse to fight for it.

Bull hooks his chin around Dorian's shoulder, cheek to cheek, slamming up with each thrust in. It's so slick, even as he clenches and judders. So deep, because Dorian's utterly pliant and relaxed. So… good. 

And he's basking in the noises, in the waves of feeling he can sense radiating from his lover. Bull makes a little choked noise, and slams the ring back one more time. "Don't come until you feel me come. Together. _Together_." His voice is rough and snarling, but snarling with heated emotion. 

The ring slides free, and Bull's hand comes back to jerk and twist as his own lust spikes too high to be contained. He doesn't talk, can't talk, his breath ragged and broken by Dorian's face as the last of his self-control goes and he's grunting his climax against his cheek. 

The sudden _release_ is like smashing a door down. Dorian's whole body is caught on a blissful, wonderful, agonising, terrible edge for a second that seems to last a thousand ages, and then he finally, finally, finally, _finally_ falls; screaming in wrecked, broken gratitude and thrashing in the other man's grip, not to break free but because the intensity of the feeling is simply too much.

When the climax – almost mercifully – starts to abate, he just _drops_ , completely spent and devoid of even a flicker of strength, gasping and murmuring in utter incoherence before he goes silent and just _breathes_.

Right now, it's all he's capable of.

Bull has just enough presence of mind to make sure there's no trapped limbs, no uncomfortable places, no points where it will hurt or injure. It's instinctive, and about as much as he has the mental capacity for. 

His cock still feels like it's pulsing, throbbing, and he's not sure if he's still spilling or if it's just his heartbeat making it feel like he is. Either way, he's tender, raw, and everything is sort of… softly spinning. 

After an unconscionably long period of time, he's with it enough to grab a few pillows and make a tiny nest to support them, under half of Dorian's belly and his own head, so he can use his horn behind them, and then rest on his lover's cheek. It means things can stay as they are for much longer, and means he can continue to cuddle him like this if neither of them want to move any time soon. 

The collar stays on. That's not changing for a while. The collar stays on, and he finds Dorian's hand to close his own around, and hold against him. Because he needs to. 

"Kadan," he murmurs, not expecting – or needing – a response. It is more to acknowledge, than to request. "You were so good. I love you." 

Dorian is so far away, any attempt at speech would be lost long before it got through the fog. The feeling isn't bad though, oh no… it's _incredible_. He drifts, deep and still and _safe_ , in Bull's arms, fully content to just exist here without needing anything more.

Which is probably for the best, because more might kill him. Though in the very best way imaginable.

Bull listens to his breathing, stroking here, holding there… changing the touches when the murmurs seem to warrant it. He has no interest in provoking anything, just in extending the sensations and the moment for as long as possible.

It's special. Special to know how at rest Dorian is. How content and satisfied. How warm and sedate. 

How… how he feels it, too. Like an unanswered question just became redundant, rather than ignored or answered. Like an old battle-ache he'd accepted as part of what existence was… faded. It's calmness in a way he rarely feels, and… accomplishment. Satisfaction. Pride. Affection. A whole array of things, and instead of feeling feverishly overwhelming right now, it's just… 'normal'. Which is special. And good. 

Bull isn't sure if Dorian is asleep or not, but he makes his quiet peace with words strung over long, restful silences. And when he does sleep (blanket at some point retrieved, he doesn't recall how), he's barely moved at all. He doesn't need to. He's right where he wanted to be.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian Does Not Like Boats...

They make it to Ostwick the following afternoon.

It's been raining hard all day, and though the downpour has finally slackened off, everything is damp and unpleasant, and colder than usual. Which of course means that Dorian hates it. Even more so for being back in a city, where the sight of a Tevinter mage wandering around prompts far too many stares, and not in a good way. Though just as many of those stares seem to be directed at Bull, so at least they're a shared fascination-slash-potential threat.

When they make it to the docks, with the choppy waves of the Waking Sea beyond, Dorian suddenly feels a sinking in his stomach. He's been trying not to think about this part, and he's had some excellent distractions along the way. But now they're here… he can't just ignore it any longer.

He tries not to let it show, but he's conscious of the fact that Bull can read him like a book.

The other three Chargers head off to arrange passage for the group on the least-dodgy ship they can afford, leaving Dorian and Bull waiting on the edge of a currently-empty docking pier, looking out at the rather inhospitable waters.

"Not as nice as a Minrathous coastline, huh?" Bull isn't about to push. But he knows he doesn't need to. Not about something like this. 

It isn't a particularly nice day either, and although Bull is perfectly at home above and below decks as he is on land, he knows that even a happy seafarer wouldn't enjoy looking out at the current climate.

But it is a crossing they need to make, especially if they're to keep their momentum and capitalise on their gains. Not all that long ago, said everyone when asked about other Tevinter parties in the region. Much closer than every other time they'd checked. 

"…really not," Dorian agrees, with an unusually low number of words. If Dorian is quiet and _hasn't_ just been fucked out of his mind, it tends to be a bad sign. "Just looking at those waves is making me regret this entire plan."

He can't turn back. He knows this. He's not going to imply that he wants to. But he _does_ very much wish he could.

Bull brushes the back of his hand over Dorian's, the tiniest show of support. Not because he's embarrassed by it in public, or in any way afraid… but because it's a gesture of solidarity, and one he suspects Dorian doesn't want others knowing he needs. 

"Maybe we should have tried to put a saddle on that dragon, huh? Could have been a faster crossing. And imagine showing up to a fight like that…" 

Unrealistic, but fun to imagine.

"…maybe we should," Dorian answers, softly. In truth, the thought of flying on a _dragon_ is just as horrifying – and even more implausible – but somehow it feels better than the reality of the situation.

"Guess there's no magic for this, either? All the Qunari do is build the dreadnaughts a little differently, and train tolerance from a young age."

Dorian shakes his head. "No. No magic. I can heal a man who's been violently stabbed, but making a sea voyage palatable? For reasons known only to the Maker, that one's impossible."

And definitely something Dorian will be having words about when he makes it to the hereafter.

"Set shit on fire, bring people back from the dead… fix hangovers and sea-sickness? Yeah, maybe people got angry with mages because they were all about the big shit and the morning after it was terrible." Bull jokes lightly, to attempt to ease the mood just a little. To show it can go either way. 

Or both. Because life is often both.

Dorian takes a deep breath. "…I'm not… fond of boats."

"Bad experience, I'm guessing? They aren't for everyone, anyway. You should just be relieved we don't have Rocky. Dwarves really hate boats. But if you need to stay a bit… away from people… easy enough to get distance without them knowing why."

"…yeah. Bad experience." Dorian knows he probably ought to explain that one of the two reasons he hates sailing is the fact that the time his family kidnapped him, they did it by boat. Because, whilst Bull knows about the event itself, he doesn't know many of the details.

The other reason is that boats make Dorian sick. Though he's confident that it wouldn't be nearly so bad were it not for the first reason.

"I'm probably going to be up on deck and clinging to the edge the whole time," he adds, trying to make light of it. "I imagine it won't be hard to get people to avoid me."

"How can I help? Don't really want to leave you alone feeling like that. If it helps… I've seen you in worse states, so you don't gotta worry about me getting squeamish. And I can put you on my blind side if you get self-conscious about it." It isn't a 'joke lots' topic, it seems, and Bull adjusts tack accordingly. 

"If there's birds or fish, we can even make it into a game…" Okay, so it's hard to not joke at all. 

"For your own sanity, I'd suggest avoiding me at all costs," Dorian replies. There's a hint of melodrama in his voice, but mostly he's being serious. "Though… I don't want to be alone."

A pause, whilst his mind tries to work out if there are any other options.

"…I could always get roaring drunk beforehand. It won't reduce the effects, but at least I might not remember so much of it."

"Are you shitting me? Unless you're actually passed out and carried onboard, you _will_ feel worse. And we don't have time to get you that wasted, that quickly." Bull nudges an elbow into his side. "I've seen you put away things a Qunari would turn green after. Or – worse – **pink**."

He shakes his head. "I'm not leaving you alone. No matter what. And if you need me to hold your staff and the back of your collar when… you're…" A brief, and thankfully non-explicit gesture. "I'm your guy." 

Dorian looks ridiculously grateful. "I don't deserve you," he says, quietly. "Though I fear you'll feel like you don't deserve _me_ before long, and not in a good way…"

A little sigh. "I should probably apologise in advance. Though only to you. I don't want the others thinking I've gone soft."

"Nah. Don't apologise. You took down a freaking dragon with me… you get a free pass for most shit for the rest of your life. Just… don't tell them I'm letting you off with everything. Even though they already know…" Bull sucks his lips in, thoughtfully.

"Maybe there's some plant shit or potion stuff that Stitches has that could help?"

"Let's hope so," Dorian agrees. "And I won't even complain about how bad it tastes." (Much).

It's at this point that he spots the other Chargers walking over in their direction from the far end of the docks, and he isn't quite sure whether to be pleased or not.

"…here they come. I pray they found something good."

"There's a ship'll take us," Krem announces, when they're close enough. "Merchant, not fishing. Shouldn't be too bad. Not big, but big enough."

Bull nods in quiet approval. "Right. Hate fishing ones. They stink and take too long." From experience. Which is why he will almost never touch one, now. "Can you sort out the horses and that… I gotta get some help with my shoulder before we get on. Reckon I was too vigorous last night, when--"

"I don't need specifics, Chief," Stitches cuts in. "You lot go ahead. I'll catch up."

"Thanks," Bull says, and pointedly doesn't wink to Dorian. He wants to spare the worst of his blushes, after all. 

***

The ship turns out to be Fereldan; making for its home port of Amaranthine, and called the _Flying Griffon_.

Although _'Bouncing_ Griffon' seems more appropriate in Dorian's mind, given the way the accursed thing rides up and over every wave and surge in the equally-accursed Waking Sea.

Night falls, and though the rain holds off, the winds pick up, and Dorian _would_ be complaining about the cold, were he not instead being violently sick for what feels like hours. He clings to the wooden railings at the side of the ship, close to the bow – and away from the unimpressed-looking sailors – very, very much wishing he was dead. If he could _stand_ for long enough, maybe he could aggravate someone into punching him unconscious, but that would require more strength and stability than he has right now.

So he just… endures.

Bull has seen worse, it's true. Doesn't mean he's enjoying this. Apparently watching Dorian feel horrific and being helpless to assist is worse (to him) than any amount of seasickness ever could feel like. 

Which is why he's relieved when Stitches finally turns up. Bull doesn't move from where he's standing – curled around the back of his mage, supporting his frame and doing his best to exude heat and not-wetness, but he does welcome him. 

"You could have told me a lot sooner… this stuff isn't all that easy to make, you know," Stitches says, his cold hands shaking around a wineskin that most assuredly doesn't contain wine. 

"Thanks, buddy," Bull answers, ignoring the complaint. It won't change the situation right now. "How much, how often?"

"All of it he'll keep down. Get a good slug in him. When he stops… get him inside and take another mouthful every hour or so… I'll make more batches for the rest of the journey."

"Alright. Good man. Remember--"

"I know. Between us. Though they do know you're both missing, and this isn't exactly star-gazing weather."

"Mages are weird. You don't know what he's up to."

"Got it," Stitches says, and shivers his way back below deck.

Dorian groans. There's very little left in him now, but he still feels like his body is searching for ways to keep going.

"…is that poison?" he tries, pathetically. "Please tell me it's poison."

He's distantly aware that this is not something he should joke about, although part of him _isn't_ joking, so it's hard to tell if he should stop or not.

"…I hate boats. And the sea. And this accursed _cold_."

"Well, anything is poison, if you drink too much… and I don't think this will make you feel all that bad, for too long." Bull rubs a hand over his hip, reassuringly. "Come on. If this makes you at least halfway better, I can get you out of the cold, if nothing else. Do you need me to hold your hair back?"

Dorian turns, and sinks down against the railing, facing away from the edge for the first time in however long this interminable hell has lasted for.

"…no. No. I'll manage."

He takes the wineskin – for once not wishing that it had wine in – and takes off the cap, resisting the urge to give it an experimental sniff in case it puts him off. And… then he tips it back and drinks, and drinks, and _Maker_ , it isn't exactly pleasant. But determination – or desperation – makes him keep going, until he finally stops and drops his head back, trying to just _breathe_ in the hope it will also help.

Bull knows the extravagant reactions to anything, even minor inconveniences, is part of who Dorian _is_. Usually it's fine. When there's an actual underlying issue, though, it becomes a little harder to stomach. 

So he drops beside him, and wraps an arm around his shoulders, tugging him in to share body heat and continue the settling rubs with his hand. 

"Save some for a bit later, in case it doesn't all stay down," Bull reminds him. "Your stomach won't be happy, with how empty it is. It'll be a shock to your system." 

"I know," Dorian manages, curling in against him and chasing the warmth and comfort. Whatever that hideous concoction was, it _does_ seem to be helping already, though it's accompanied by a kind of dull weight that makes him feel oddly sleepy.

Or possibly that's just tiredness.

"…sorry," he adds. "I was hoping it wouldn't be this bad."

"Eh. Like I said… if you haven't seen a grumpy dwarf on a ship… they go for the ankles. It's… messy." Bull snuffles at his hair. "You wanna stay up here a bit longer, or find somewhere to lie down? I can bring a bucket." 

Dorian curls in more. "I don't think I should move just yet. Even if it is freezing. Plus the fresh air helps. It's worse if…"

He trails off, suddenly realising he doesn't want to talk about that.

Bull nods. And then pats at his lap. "Least I can do is keep you warm. If it doesn't make you feel too crap, curl up on me. Promise I won't try anything… not with you feeling like this." 

He notices the hanging thought, but he's going to get comfort sorted first and foremost. If he can get Dorian to settle on top of him, then he can wrap the thick cloak around his front and effectively lock in most of the heat, but leave his face free for the fresh air (and any… lingering side-effects.) 

That sounds nice. It takes Dorian a moment, but eventually he summons up the energy to turn and climb onto Bull's lap, straddling his hips and then just curling into him again.

It feels good. It would feel far more so in a nice, warm bed on glorious dry land, but it's definitely the best he's felt since they came aboard this accursed vessel.

"…'s better," he murmurs, ridiculously grateful.

"Eh. Keeps me warm, too," Bull demurs, and settles his arms around him, making sure to cover as much surface area as possible. He doesn't care what anyone thinks, if they see them. You do what you have to do, when someone you care deeply about needs it. 

"Now… you want me to ask the million gold piece question you clearly want to answer, or you want me to talk random shit until you pass out, kadan? Either works for me."

"What question?" Dorian asks. He feels more than a little delirious, so if he's giving off leading vibes, he's not consciously aware of it. Though his mind does often do what it wants, so maybe he's…

…oh, no, wait…

"Your bad experience. It wasn't just some off fish beforehand, and a rough crossing, was it? You keep twitching. Which means you keep going back to it. And you _usually_ want to be pushed, if you don't come straight out with it. So…" Bull pushes his hair the wrong way. 

"You throw up on a boy you liked? Or some important Magister? Or you come from a long line of sea-farers and you're a disgrace to them all because the only place you can't sashay is the one place it's acceptable?"

Part of Dorian wants to refuse to talk about it, but Dorian _rarely_ refuses to talk about something if pushed. And… certainly not when it's Bull. And… part of him must want to talk about it, or he wouldn't be dropping deliberate hooks for the other man to tug on.

"…nothing like that," he says, softly. "You… remember I mentioned that my parents had me locked up for several months? It was after Alexius and I fell out. I was… upset… and I was spending most of my time with a friend in Minrathous, Lord Abrexis. He was known for throwing wild parties and for having even more exotic proclivities than my own. And no, we weren't involved, before you ask; though I did enjoy his company and his parties because I never felt out of place there."

"And… after the scandal started to get too much, my parents and their entourage turned up in Minrathous. There… there was a fight. People got hurt. But… they finally managed to bring me down. And, when I woke up, I was on a ship bound for Qarinus…"

He shivers, and not from the cold.

"The Nocen Sea is almost three times as wide as the Waking Sea," he goes on. "The crossing took days. I was already prone to getting queasy on anything more adventurous than a river pleasure-boat, but to make matters worse, I was violently hungover, recovering from a nasty lyrium-high, and locked up below deck for the entire voyage. It was… it was bad."

"…you… you were legally an adult, and… because they didn't like the scandal of you _revelling_ with another Tevinter of your own social standing they…" Bull's jaw audibly clenches. And the sudden stiffness in his arms says there are things he would do if he was around Dorian's family, right now. 

"At least, if you run away from the Qun, they either leave you be or run you to ground. And then, only really if you pose a danger to the Qun itself… _Basra vashedan…_ Can't they see if they have to force you to accept something, that maybe it's not worth accepting in the first place?"

He forces the anger out of his embrace, and instead holds him. And squeezes very slightly, rubbing at an arm to keep Dorian warm. "We can stay up here as long as you like – well – if it remains safe enough. Shit. If I ever meet your family…" There is every risk Bull will wave to the back of their heads. Through the front of them. 

"…yeah," Dorian murmurs. "It was fine when they'd decided I was Alexius' problem. But when that fell apart… suddenly all the gossip came back around to them. And they couldn't handle it. And… that's why I _really_ hate boats, beyond the seasickness. I didn't mention it, because… because I _have_ to do this, and I thought if I just tried to ignore it…"

A self-deprecating little sigh. "Guess I didn't do so well at that. But… I would appreciate staying up here. I know it's cold. I just feel… less _trapped_."

Bull understands completely. Well, not the specific situation, but definitely the theory behind it. "Do you want me to get more blankets, though? Or are you warm enough, now? I know the fresh air can help if your stomach feels like crap as well, so if anyone asks, it's that." As he figures Dorian doesn't want everyone knowing quite how shitty his family was to him. 

"I know you… might not always know, beforehand… but if there's anything like this again… anything that starts worrying you… we can try make it as least shit as we can. Stitches could have maybe had that stuff made way before you got aboard, maybe even other stuff. It's helping a bit, isn't it?"

"…Yes," Dorian concedes. "I know I should have said something… I just… didn't want to think about it. I'm sorry. And… I'm warm enough, at least for now. I have you. Although how you're not _freezing_ , I can't understand."

He snuggles in more again, so very glad Bull is here, and thinking – not for the first time – that he'd never have been able to do this alone. Or, perhaps he would, but it would have been a hideous experience.

Talking about it does mean Bull shivers. It's easier when he's not thinking about it. "Not gonna lie, I don't really like the cold, either. But I kinda… shut my mind off to it. Qunari only really cover up for real war, not… day to day stuff. It's even warmer in Par Vollen… but it means no one really makes shirts I could wear. And I am _not_ wearing the crap Krem makes. It's cute, but it doesn't really give off the right 'I'll Kick Your Ass' vibe I'm going for…" 

That makes Dorian laugh, just softly. "I would _love_ to see you in something you think is _cute_. Even if only in private."

"…ask Krem when we're somewhere for more than five minutes, and… I'll give you a show," Bull agrees, faux-reluctantly. "But I am _not_ going out onto the battlefield with it. That's the deal."

Dorian's relaxing a little now, as much as he can. He still feels terrible, but at least the worst part has stopped. "…if you need to go below for a bit, we can. I may not like it, but… I'll be with you. So that will help."

Bull stretches one leg slightly. "Nah. Comfy with you. Only moving if you want to, or it gets too rough. No point bouncing you around for no real reason… so." Utterly changing the subject. "Been meaning to ask you. When did you first see a Qunari – or one you knew was Qunari, I should say…?"

Dorian looks up at him in surprise, and then realises it's actually a fair question. "Oh… when I was a teenager, maybe fourteen or fifteen. You don't often get Qunari in Tevinter – for obvious reasons – and this trip is only the second time I've _left_ Tevinter, so there haven't been many opportunities. But there was a pair of them passing through… looked like mercenaries though I guess you can't tell for sure. People gave them a wide berth, or unsubtly tried to get them to move on without being _too_ provocative."

He smiles. "I remember sneaking out just to get a look at them. They were… terrifying. I still wished I'd been brave enough to speak to them, although that would probably have landed me in even _more_ trouble."

That gets Dorian a snort. "Bet you would have tried to flirt with them, wouldn't you? And denied it if you needed to… but you probably wouldn't have…" Bull can imagine it, and the mental image has him grinning. 

"Did they have full _vitaar_ , or 'regular' armour on? They probably were mercs _and_ spies. Even if they didn't know it. Ben-Hassrath puts everyone to work… you do realise most Tevinter households have at least one _viddathari_ in the slave ranks, don't you? And I heard rumours of multiple magisters, probably not as many as was whispered about, but I'm sure there's several converts hidden in the ranks…" 

"So they say, but it's not done to talk about it," Dorian replies. "We're a suspicious people as it is, and stoking the feeling only makes matters worse. Though you often hear stories about slaves being dismissed – or worse – because of Qunari sympathies. Half of the time it's probably just an excuse… but you never know for sure."

"As for the ones I saw… they were dressed in mis-matched gear. They had _vitaar_ on their faces, though. Another reason people avoided them. They said if you even touched one, you'd die. And… I would not have tried to flirt with them! I was curious, not stupid. But I did… think about them… after."

"It's poisonous, but not fatal in that kind of a dose. But the rumour does help keep folks on their back foot… psychological warfare and all. They'd send a few through populated places every now and then to make sure people got a look, but didn't get familiar… reckon that's why they sent me the first time." Bull shrugs.

And… that's interesting. "Well. You were still young. Did you… always have a thing for big, horny men, kadan? Not that I'm complaining. I gotta say, I didn't know I had a thing for _mages_ before you… but then that might just be because it's you."

"I knew I liked men by that point," Dorian answers. "Though I'd never been attracted to one who wasn't a human or an elf before. I'm not even sure whether you'd even call it attraction, or… just intrigue. I was only young, after all. But I guess I liked the… physicality? When you've been able to blast people through walls from an early age, you don't perceive threat in the same way. Especially not _physical_ threat. I knew other mages were dangerous, but I rarely had cause to fear anyone non-magical. Until… them."

"Makes sense. Oh – now I _have_ to ask. What about dwarves? I mean… the size difference always made me a bit worried I'd crush them. Even if they're usually robust. It's hard enough having a conversation with them sometimes… but I guess it wouldn't have mattered for just a roll in the hay. Ugh! Now look at me… I can't even think about purely physical nights of passion even hypothetically, it's all about the _relationship_ … Kadan, you have _ruined_ me." Bull pushes his face into his lover's neck, snickering softly.

"How are we going to objectify people we check out in bars now, even if we have no intention of showing them a good night?"

"I never really had a thing for dwarves," Dorian admits. "I mean, don't get me wrong, they're _fun_ to drink with, but they're never impressed by magic. And I do _like_ to be impressive. So I guess… I never got the right feedback."

Then he laughs again. "Well, you've done the same to me! Before, I could have happily had a one-off fling without thinking about it twice. Now I need commitment and dedication and undying devotion. And you. Mostly you. And sex with _anyone_ else would be so completely inferior."

"For one, they wouldn't have my stamina. Or my dick," Bull chuckles, though he's diverting slightly when he does. "It's not like I can't see they're pretty… it's just… why would I bother? Unless you were really into them, but… eh. I might not like them touching you…" No, he wouldn't. Which is an entirely new set of emotional responses he's still not fully come to terms with internally. 

He crooks his finger under the other man's jaw, and lightly strokes below his chin. "Think it's safe to say it's entirely mutual. Guess you don't mind talking about… before, though? Not out of any jealousy. More… understanding how you came to be who you are… it's the things I didn't get to see. Hearing it in your words… I feel like I did get to see. And I'm not gonna lose you, so it's… hmmm. Just knowing you that little bit more."

Dorian looks up at him. "I don't mind talking about it. It's not disloyal to have been with other people before we even met. And it's not as though there was ever anything serious, so you don't even have to worry about some jealous ex turning up to fight you for me. Though… you'd win, so maybe that would have been fun…"

"So… no Qunari ever crossed your path in _that_ way, before, mmm?" Bull pushes his nose to Dorian's. "And I would. Win. If anyone decided they wanted to challenge me for your hand. If you weren't offended by being considered property, that is…" And then he clips his teeth over fresh air. "By the other man, I mean. Because you absolutely are mine. And anyone who tried to run off with you would get a very. Very rude awakening. Or… a very, very, _very_ long sleep."

That makes Dorian purr just a little, though the effect is lost somewhat in how unwell he still looks. "I like it when you get all possessive of me. And no. No. Definitely no Qunari before you. I may have looked, but I never touched. So you can consider yourself special in that regard, too."

"You think you ever would have travelled? If not for the… you know. Bullshit? I know boats aren't your thing, but if there were other ways, or if you… hadn't had such a bad time?" Bull's letting his tongue wander, mostly to keep Dorian's mind moving and not dwelling on his body. 

Ironic, considering how hard they've been fighting the other way of late, but this is also directed towards nicer thoughts. 

"I like to think so," Dorian answers. "Despite my feelings on Orlais, they do have some _extensive_ libraries, and I'd love to see them. And Antiva! It's always sounded so vibrant and _daring_ , and exciting. Not sure what I'll think of Ferelden, though. Other than the cold, which obviously I'll hate. It's always seemed a bit… provincial? And I know they're not especially fond of mages. Or Tevinters. So that's going to be… interesting."

"Everywhere has some charm. And some stuff you could really do without," Bull agrees. "And we can get you some warmer clothes. Been thinking that for a while, actually. Something fur-lined… I'm sure we can do cosy without ruining your silhouette…" 

He is teasing, but only very, very gently. 

"And you might be surprised. Though there's always the… prevailing thoughts and opinions… you'll often find there's open-minded people even in the most back-water of places. Maybe even more open-minded. When you're wanting to survive, and life is rough, you don't see so many boundaries between people. Not ones who seem to be prepared to help."

Though Bull wonders if some of that as well is his reputation, at times. He's taken care to cultivate that. Scary, dangerous, gets the job done… but also reliable and not based on bigotry. There's been plenty of jobs the Chargers have refused to do, and those say just as much as the ones they accept. 

"Ferelden has good ale. And they're… almost dwarven in directness, compared to the Orlesians. You'll get the truth more often, without the honeycomb and filigree over the top."

Dorian considers this. "I suppose that will be refreshing. Certainly less exhausting. I can't fathom how the Orlesians do it all the time, and even back home, the social dance can get tiresome when you're not in the mood."

Which sometimes he is, obviously, but not always. Especially considering that everything he said always seemed to find its way back to his parents.

"I agree on the warmer clothing. Half of Ferelden is probably covered in snow by this point in the year, so it's either upgrade or freeze to death."

"Fur-trimmed boots… big cloak, so you can still move your arms… maybe get a blanket for your lap while we're riding… if we get somewhere that's half decent, I might even manage to get a cloak that'll fit me, too. Or buy two and stitch them together." Bull shudders at the thought of snow on bare shoulders. It is not pleasant. He has been there. 

"Their food is… you know how Orlesians seem to want to make you go nearsighted with squinting to find the tiny pieces, as if being hungry was some kind of sin? Yeah. No. I doubt you've had anything like a _real_ Fereldan stew, yet. It doesn't travel well into hotter lands, but when your balls are liable to shatter, and you walk into one of their taverns… trust me. You'll appreciate it. And they don't do any of that stupid twiddly shit to the bread for it. It's a hunk. Or a loaf. You could punch your fist through it and wear it as a gauntlet if you wanted. _Real_ bread." 

He's aware that possibly this sudden fascination is due to how cold he is, and that normally he'd be less adamant and--

"…uh, sorry. Wasn't thinking about the…" Nausea. "They also _do_ like their dogs. So if you're ever really too cold, you can probably borrow one to lie on your feet. You'll stink, but you won't freeze."

Dorian shudders, repressing another wave of sickness. "…Maybe don't talk about food right now. Especially Fereldan peasant food. Not after the pudding incident…"

Another shudder, stronger this time, and he buries his face in Bull's neck to fight back the sensation. And the _memories_.

"I'll avoid the dogs, too. I'm not good with animals. I don't get on with anything I can't reason with." A beat. "It's why I can't abide at least half of the Magisterium…"

"To be fair, the Ferelden dogs at least understand 'sit' and 'no'. So I think you'd get on better with them. I heard folks say they understand more than just that. Pity you can't train them to report back, because--" Bull stops short, his mind just.

Hitting a wall. Because… why does he have to keep thinking like that? It's maddening.

"Have you ever seen snow? I mean, up close?"

Dorian shakes his head. "No. It sounds ghastly. I'm sure I'll hate it. But… I'm guessing you have?"

He is not in favour of snow. Cold rain is bad enough. He just hopes they won't have to stay in Ferelden for too long, or he'll need an entire new wardrobe to cope. And… Dorian, no.

"It's cold, but… well. When it's been trampled all over, it kind of goes like a cold… mud… sort of thing. But when it's fresh… you can see where all the birds and animals have been walking. You can sculpt with it… and… uh. I guess it's different when you can make ice on a whim, but…" Bull shrugs, the movement travelling through them both.

"Seeing the fingers of ice form around a house, or the patterns of frost on a window… if you're wrapped up warm enough, it's… special. I hadn't had much experience with anything like it, before I came south. In small doses and when you don't have to trek miles, it's pretty. Most things are, in small enough doses. Even magisters."

Something about that makes Dorian laugh softly, then regret the movement and curl in again. At least the proximity is keeping him reasonably warm, given the circumstances.

"You could always make your own, in small amounts. Paint on the windowpanes. Frost up a mirror… the patterns alone are worth looking at." Bull lifts a hand up, and kisses Dorian's fingers, one by one. He rubs them under his thumb, wanting to keep them warm. 

"I suppose I'll get to find out sooner or later," Dorian replies. "Unless Alexius decides to take a break in Amaranthine, and we catch him there…"

But Dorian doesn't want to think about that right now, so his mind scrambles for something else to say to fill the space, and settles on a question he hasn't asked yet.

"You… said I'm the only mage you've been with. Was that just because of the way it worked out, or… were you actively avoiding it? It's OK if you were. I merely… wondered."

Bull doesn't look up right away. "A bit of both, I guess. It wasn't a conscious… 'no'. Not like I'd said it was off-limits, but I was always… respectfully wary? I guess. It hadn't been made as a set rule, but I never found any reason to make an exception to it. Before you, of course." That's when he looks up. "And I'd still have wanted you, even if you weren't a mage. Though it does have some very interesting benefits… won't lie about that, either."

"It does," Dorian agrees. "You do seem to enjoy those."

He enjoys them too, of course. And it's good to have someone to share them with; especially someone who is strong enough not to cave under the slightest impressive display.

"I'd show off a bit now, but I think the sailors might try to throw me overboard. And that… OK, definitely not thinking about that…"

Bull ruffles his hair, but only very, very gently. "I don't want to have to jump in after you if they did. I mean, don't get me wrong: I _would_. But I'd rather just wrap you in blankets and listen to you bitch about your cold nose and toes, if it's all the same to you."

He moves to rub behind his ears, one hand curled all around the back of his head. "Does this help with the nausea? I heard it can. And I'll expect an even more impressive show of your powers when we land. I remember something about the release after a long, pent up time being… rewarding?"

"It helps. _You_ help. Also that concoction Stitches brought me. Plus this is nice…"

It is. And though Dorian can't relax enough to enjoy it the way he usually might, because of how terrible he feels, it's still good. And infinitely better than the alternative.

Then he smiles again. "That is certainly true, and you know it. And… hopefully the night after we land in Ferelden, I'll get the chance to show you just how much…"

Flirting without being able to act on it is weird. But… also weirdly fun?

Bull finds just the right spot, and keeps rubbing. He likes looking after Dorian, though he would rather it wasn't essential. "It will have been _several_ nights of no-sex. And the last time it was this long, it was because you were pretty much catatonic. Are you even going to survive that wait? Or are you just recovering from the _very_ comprehensive few nights we've had recently?" 

"I'm very robust," Dorian insists. "And contrary to what you might think, I _am_ capable of restraining myself. It's just… difficult… when it's you, but you should consider that a compliment, you irresistible fiend."

"…and it has been very comprehensive, hasn't it? It's a wonder I can still walk. Not that I am in _any_ way complaining, because… mmmmm. _Yes_."

That gets him a bark of a laugh. "You _do_ complain. First it's 'more' and then it's 'now' and then… usually 'more' again. And I'm absolutely not complaining one bit… even if my balls chafe when I sit. It's… hard to keep my hands off of you. Or other bits…"

Bull moves down to work his hand over Dorian's nape, instead, and over the jut of his neck. "We also seem to be getting better at the other thing. It's… nice. Seeing you get like that. A guy could get used to it…" 

"You mean the part where I go non-verbal and melt away in your arms?" Dorian asks, a slightly wicked look in his eyes. "Or the part where you get me there by making me scream myself hoarse five times over without thought of respite?"

"It's… good. You make everything _quieter_ – at least after the screaming – and that's… it helps. A lot."

"Both." Bull nods. "Both. But it's… when you just… _relax_ … I know you've stopped worrying. Or… stopped feeling like you need to. You worry too much, kadan. And I like it when you're resting."

He grips just above Dorian's knee, jostling only a little. "I think you needed to know it would be okay to do it, first. I've seen people slip, but you go right the fuck under. Never do anything by halves, do you?"

"Not if I can help it," Dorian answers. "What would be the point? If you're going to do something, commit. Plus… I don't think _that_ would work on me if it wasn't all-out. I resist it too much in the early stages."

Which is fine, because it's part of the fun. But… he wouldn't ever get to the really good part if he stopped there.

"True. But I think you resist just as much to get the payout as because of your… innate need to be stubborn. Which you will agree, you're lucky I'm even more bull-headed than you, for once." He only smirks a little at the joke. 

"You did worry me, to start with. I wasn't sure if you'd… hold out so long you ended up hurting yourself. In a way that wasn't good for you. But you're just… more challenging to bring down than a bloody dragon. And that's _praise_ , before you complain."

"I've seen you with a dragon," Dorian points out. "I _know_ it's praise. And I'm… sorry if I was difficult, to begin with. It… I knew I wanted it, but my head kept pushing me the other way, and half the time I felt like I was fighting _myself_ more than you…"

Then he gives a wry smile. "I'm not ashamed of being stubborn. I know what I like. And having to work at something makes it more rewarding."

Bull nudges his head up, just to kiss him very lightly on the lips. And tries not to think about how ill he's been not long since. "You don't need to apologise… you needed to work at it. We both did. It's… not something you should do lightly, not if you're planning on going so deep. There's a difference between some simple handcuffs and going deep, deep into someone else's mind."

It's about as similar as a rock lizard is to a high dragon, after all. "You weren't fighting me. It's only ever yourself. I'm only there to help you win the fight. I could yell and smack and do any nonsense… but unless you're ready, it's pointless posturing. It's not… real."

"It was amazing, when it finally worked," Dorian says, softly, his eyes suddenly distant. "Not like I'd imagined… _more_ than I'd imagined. And… it wasn't easy, but it was worth it, and I hope you know how grateful I am because… because I am."

He also wants to do it again sometime. Not _every_ time, but definitely again.

"It… it's…" Bull's tongue pokes out, then he nips into his lip. "When you get there, I'm… not? But I am. I can… feel that you are. And knowing… that's when I feel powerful. But also… it shows me how far you trust me, and… how close we are. So you don't need to thank me, because… yeah. It's good. _Real_ good." From the husk in his voice, he definitely means it.

And right now, it isn't even as if thinking about it does more than the most distant, subdued of stirrings between his legs. It's not totally chaste, but the circumstances right now aren't conducive to a full physical response. Which means he can focus on the other elements, and savour those. "I like looking after you. And I don't mean that in a 'I think you need it' kind of way. I mean it in a 'you don't really need it, but it's about damn time someone did because you deserve it' kind of way. And… yeah. You look after me, too." 

That makes Dorian blush a little, though it's not exactly easy to tell between how cold he looks and how lingeringly unwell. "I like it when you do. It's… nice to feel worth the effort, especially from someone who doesn't _have_ to make that effort. I've looked out for myself for so long…"

He trails off. He isn't even trying to be melodramatic right now, it just keeps happening by itself.

"I do trust you, though. Completely. In a way I didn't even think I was capable of, and certainly haven't ever come close to before."

"You didn't have a reason to trust anyone. Why would you? Qunari don't have parents, but even I know if they treated me like yours had… okay, so the Tamassrans would… have their 'favourites', even if they shouldn't, but…" Bull shakes his head, and then crushes him in again. 

"We're your family, now. Chargers and me. Everyone who the world thought was too… weird… yeah. They'd crawl through glass for you, if there was no smarter way. And I _do_ have to make the effort. Because – fuck it – you _are_ worth it, and – and it makes me happy to. You're far sweeter than you think you are, you know? And… I don't want to think what life would be like without you, now. Hells, it was barely worth it before you came along. Then suddenly… you made me want to get up in the morning." A snort. "Well. You made me want to take you to bed at night and stay there so long that morning should come in the afternoon, but you know what I mean."

"…stop being so adorable when I'm seasick…" Dorian murmurs into Bull's chest. "I mean it, though. Thank you. For everything. So far, at least. I know I'm dramatic, but even I don't think I'm _actually_ going to die on this accursed boat… especially because I am _very_ much looking forward to the next time you take me to bed and remind me why you're like no one else I've ever known."

"Yeah, you're not dying. I won't let you." Bull is far, far too invested in the continued existence (and happiness) of a certain Pavus to allow such a thing. 

Then Dorian looks up. "What will the Chargers do, if we do manage to semi-settle down in Minrathous? Would… they be all right about coming into Tevinter? Would Krem? Because… I know we need to make it work for them, too. All of them."

Bull bites the inside of his mouth at the question. "Krem… is smart enough that even if they weren't happy seeing us from time to time, he'd be able to keep them in check. They look up to him… made sure of it. I mean…"

That sounds wrong. "They look up to him because he's worth looking up to, it's more that… I made sure he was okay with it, too. Had to have a plan, in case things went even further south. And he was gonna lead them, when I… yeah. As for Minrathous? I've taken jobs in the Imperium. They don't have an issue visiting. And if they were staying any longer than that, they'd have lodgings we knew were safe, because _we_ were safe. You'd need to ask him to be sure, but knowing you were making it better for… you know. Everyone? Can't see how he wouldn't think that was a great idea. It's about giving them the choice. Sometimes, as the boss, you gotta put your foot down on a job. Or over some shit that just isn't right. But the rest… they follow you cause they believe in you. If you have to bust noses, then they're not the noses you want following you. And that's… normal. Not everyone works well with everyone else."

Dorian nods. "All right. I just wanted to make sure. They're important too. And Krem… I know how much he means to you, and I do _not_ want him suffering any more at the Imperium's hands, especially on my account. And I will of course do everything in my power to make sure _all_ of them are safe."

He doesn't think Bull doubts this in any way, but he still feels better saying it. He's very much aware of the risks he's asking people to take for him, and it's not a sacrifice he intends to forget.

"He tell you about us meeting? Little fucker took down more of them than they'd ever admit before they cornered him. And he's… he knows. He knows we accept _him_. And he knows we'd go through all levels of shit for him, which is why he'd do it for us." Bull's chest swells a little, pride making his throat close. 

"The chance to screw them over, and put shit right, and avenge both of you? Hah. He'd take your hand off for it."

Bull slides a foot over salt-wet planks, thinking for a moment. "I don't know why he got me so bad. Just… the thought that someone would try to kill him, just because of what's between his legs? Better fighter than any of them who went after him. In the Qun, they'd just accept that he is who he is. You gotta give them that: they don't try to force you into things you aren't. Maybe the goal isn't what you want, but they sure as hell respect that people are different, and try to _use_ that. I just… poor kid was so _brave_ … who looks at a kid and decides like that for them? What the hell harm was he doing, by being a loyal freaking soldier?"

" _Fasta vass_ ," Dorian murmurs. "I'm sorry. I guessed it must have been something like that, but I didn't want to push too much in case… well. Good thing you found each other, when you did. And… we _will_ make things better, when we go back. Somehow. We will. Not _everyone_ in Tevinter is so backward, and if we rally like-minded people to our cause… they'll come."

The more he thinks about it, the more he starts to think it would actually be possible. Change in Tevinter is slow… but if you don't set things in motion, nothing ever happens, and people like him, or like Krem, just end up either pushed to the side, or crushed into the ground.

And that has to stop.

"He signed up. Had a doctor turn a – hah – blind eye. Until they weren't there, one day. And then even though he was a damn good soldier, they turned on him. And when he ran, they thought they'd rather kill him than admit they'd been bested by – to _them_ – a 'girl'. Even though 'girls' kick ass. Qunari give them jobs they're good at, but if they really want that, and nothing else will do? Then they get it… it's who they _are_." 

Bull whuffs in annoyance. "Seems mostly like a Vint thing to me. Don't know what your lot have against women. You even have your own Divine, right? And… I know it's not _your_ belief structure… just… guess every group has to pick another one to push down so they feel better. And it makes me _mad_."

A lot of things make Bull mad. For all he smiles most of the time, and jokes, and pulls everyone along… it's there. Just underneath. And sometimes it bleeds through, like now. 

"It isn't just us. The Fereldans are bad at it too. But… that's no excuse, I know. And yes, we have our own Divine, though that's mostly to make sure we're free from the clutches of dread Orlais. Well. That's the official line, at least. Deep down, it's because Tevinter likes to think itself the best and smartest in the room."

Dorian understands that there's a certain element of hypocrisy in him saying as much, although he is – pretty much by definition – far more open-minded.

"It's ridiculous," he goes on. "We have plenty of powerful women. Quite a number in the Magisterium. And yet… somehow it's always the men making the decisions. Something _else_ I can't stand. We hobble ourselves with every step, as if it somehow gave a suitable explanation for why we're not the pan-Thedosian power we once were. But it doesn't. It just means we never get invited to the parties."

Bull clicks his tongue, then shakes his head. 

"If you were invited, you'd tell the Orlesians that they're not classy enough; and the Fereldans that they smell of dogs; the Antivans that you counted your silver before they came; and the Qunari that you had long-distance mages and flaming archers pointed at them. So maybe what you really need is a party where everyone wears a _real_ mask and talks in a terrible accent, so your prejudice is all…" Bull lifts a hand and wafts it. 

"…works best for humans and elves, though. Unless everyone is also on stilts to match height and the masks all have horns. Wait, I think I had this dream…" he drifts off, then snaps back. 

"…sorry. Just… gets on my tits. Most of the time, bitching about it doesn't do anything but get it off them… but _you_ … you might actually do something. More than just… give jobs to a bunch of misfits, I mean."

"I'll certainly give it my best shot. And… even if I _do_ just end up giving jobs to a bunch of misfits, at least I'll have improved things for _somebody_."

Dorian curls in again, fighting another wave of nausea and wanting to suppress it.

"I like the thought of you at a big, fancy party, though," he adds, trying to lighten the mood. "We'll have to try that sometime."

"Mmm, and I can go whichever way you want. I can be perfectly charming, use all the right forks, and hold my own in conversation… or I can be the brute who barges up to get you out of conversations and you have to 'deal' with me to save face… or who flirts too much with you in front of specific people…" Bull trails through the options, putting a hand on Dorian's back low down to rub soothingly. "I'll even dress up nicely."

That makes Dorian murmur happily. "Both sound like fun. Though… I especially love the idea of you being _so_ sophisticated and no one quite knowing what to do. The very best way to be outrageous is to do _everything_ right."

A thought crosses his mind then, and he peers up at Bull. "…can you dance?"

"Yes, and I thought you'd never ask, but right now I think you'd be sick if we tried," Bull replies, with a mellow smirk. "I'm used to leading. But I'm happy to scandalise either way, or switch back and forth…" 

Bull takes Dorian's hand in his, guiding it as if they were dancing, without moving another part. "I would love to. And to be the most perfect courtier, so they all wish if only I were female. And Tevinter… and a mage… And they all think, if only… but then I wouldn't be able to fuck your brains out, after. So really, it's them who are failing to capitalise."

Dorian smiles. "Well, _I_ love you just the way you are, and I will absolutely ask again when we're somewhere more suitable. And… I don't mind if you lead. I _like_ it when you lead."

It's probably for the best he feels so terrible right now, because otherwise he'd be trying for a quickie right here on deck in the hope no one sees. Instead, all he can do is bank the thought for later. But at least it keeps him distracted.

"Then I will. I'll waltz you around so delicately, and dip you right before their noses. I'll keep my hand in the small of your back, all through the party, so you know I'm right beside you… _and_ thinking about your butt." Bull can't help himself, but neither (usually) can Dorian, so it doesn't really count. 

"They'll interpret it in… in terms of male and female, as you likely know. But… it doesn't work that way, for me. Even if they force the matter. And if socially you need me to take a side, or a seat, or a point… I'll do it. I don't consider it demeaning, but I understand if others' views on things may be hurtful." Bull bounces him, only very, very slightly. " _I_ know my kadan is **all** man. And I wouldn't care if he wasn't, either. But I very much enjoy that he is."

That makes Dorian wrap his arms around Bull's shoulders, and sigh against his neck. "I wish I felt better right now. And not just because I hate feeling like this. You're _amazing_ , you know that? So let people be scandalised. They're just jealous we're having far more sex than they are. And far more _superior_ sex, too."

People who say it's all either quality or quantity have missed the part where it can be both. A lot of both.

"I know, but this will pass. It's just a brief moment, before you get to land again. And then I will scandalise every court we can be thrown out of with you, laugh and fuck you all the way back home." Bull pats his ass, just a little. "It will be fun to fuck with their norms. Norms about peoples, genders, cultures… orgasms…"

Oh, there's an idea. "Kadan… how rude is it to do light shit – magic light shit – in public? In Tevinter, I mean?"

"I assume you mean _intimate_ magic?" Dorian asks, with another little smile. " _Officially_ , it would be scandalous, but it's like having regular sex in public. If you can get away with it, why let that put you off? The risk is part of the thrill."

And _now_ he's having all sorts of ideas. Speaking of which…

"…why, do you have something in mind?" He's attempting to sound innocent. It isn't very convincing.

Bull tries even less. "Oh, just that… it's very pretty, and it could be used to… communicate certain things. Privately. Without words. If there's _connotations_ , however, I would _hate_ for people to be forced to witness your post-orgasmic glow, or your pre-release tension… that would be so very rude of us to imply how _deeply_ satisfied we regularly made each other…" 

A tiny kiss, under an ear. "Is that what they'd see? The mage equivalent of not so much a 'walk of shame' as 'swagger of satisfaction'? Here was me thinking you could just signal if you wanted me to take you off and suck you off… I didn't think they'd know _that_ …"

"They wouldn't _have_ to know," Dorian replies. "There are things that don't show. And things that don't _need_ to show. Sometimes I make them _look_ impressive because it's perfectly fine in private, but I could tone it down in public… though people _will_ notice if I do the thing that makes you scream the roof off…"

Bull's lips curl back in a little, hungry snarl. "And I just thought… some quiet signalling. Here you are offering to magically jerk me off at the dinner table? You do know if you do that, then I will _actually_ jerk you off at the dinner table? And you scream even louder than I do…"

Trust his kadan to go all the way to filth. And here he was trying to keep the innuendo… innuendo. And not straight into exhibitionism. Oh, well. 

"So… would you? Let me slide my hand up your leg at dinner? While we see whose face lasts longest and who has to be excused first? Or do you just want the thrill of knowing I'm thinking about it…?"

"Am I allowed to say both? Both." Dorian doesn't wait for approval, though he doubts Bull would have refused it. "Life has turned me into a source of scandal. I prefer to embrace it rather than fight it. It's more fun that way."

"And yes," he goes on, "I'm not suggesting full-on _sex_ right in front of people. But a little misbehaviour, on the other hand… _with_ the other hand…"

Bull can't help but react. Even if Dorian isn't feeling great right now, he's simply cold, and talking about it this much… not that it's essential to act on every spike of lust. Sometimes it's enjoyable to sit on the spike. Until your arse is sore. "Well… you can one hundred percent count me in. I _never_ want to take my hands off of you. And it might be…"

He leans in, and noses up Dorian's neck, "…nice… to have our own, private codewords. Signals. For when we want, or need something specific. When we're thinking about a particular thing. And when the guest speaker is too dull and the only thing to stop us dying from boredom is to leave teeth marks on the drawing room table while we try not to let anyone hear us go at it like a pair of randy dragons."

Calm it, he tells his dick. Later. "…if you keep this up, I… will keep _this_ up." Which he nudges against him. "And much as I wish you were feeling better… I'm not going to risk making you feel worse again." 

"I wish I was feeling better," Dorian agrees. "We'll have plenty of lost time to make up for once we reach blessed dry land. But I fear the consequences of trying to act on it now would be… dire."

Wretched boat. Wretched sea. Wretched libido. Right now, it is not Dorian's friend.

"We should probably talk about the weather or something. Before I forget how bad I'm feeling and try to do things anyway… and end up heaving over the side mere moments later."

"Gnnh. Agreed. But you are most _assuredly_ on a promise, kadan. Just… try not to bounce too much for a bit, and it'll be okay." Bull nibbles his ear, because… well, he's still a bastard. 

"I'm going to ask… you seem like the type who would… have designed and planned and considered every element of certain things you'd like. But I can't quite work out if it would have hurt you too much, knowing you 'couldn't' have the life you wanted… did you? Have those daydreams? Because I have a specific question, if so."

"Of course I did," Dorian answers, softly. "Knowing precisely what I _did_ want helped me deal with not being able to have it. You know I'm something of a fantasist… but not all of them were about being accosted by suave, sophisticated villains…"

Dorian, no. This is not helping.

"…so ask. I doubt you'll offend me. And I'd sooner be honest with you, anyway."

"It isn't like that, though I now do want to know what you think I _may_ have wanted to ask… as well as all the details you care to share." Bull finds Dorian's left hand, and puts his below the fingers, lifting it up before his eyes. 

"I may have been a little presumptuous with this, but it… seemed right, and you appeared to like it. But I wanted you to be involved in the next one. And so… I wanted to know what you imagined." 

Dorian stares at the ring for a moment, smiling. "You were _very_ presumptuous, and I liked it _a lot_ ," he says. "And… for the next… I'd always imagined something in gold, carved to look like a snake swallowing its own tail. _Infinity_. That's what I always wanted. Something that would last forever."

Something he could rely on, and trust in, and be sure of, in a world that seemed to change the rules whenever it suited.

"The finished loop, where this one is open?" Bull nods to the amulet that hangs around Dorian's neck. "If I were to have the same, those two would not be forever looking out, alone…" His head tilts, squinting in thought.

"A craftsman could make them… so that if they were removed – or if we held hands – their heads would be tilted slightly, to kiss… would that be acceptable? It is your fantasy, after all. I never even considered it, until you swaggered into view. I'm aware I'm inserting myself into your… heritage. But as I regularly insert _myself_ into your 'heritage', maybe it won't be so much of an ask."

"Oh… I like that," Dorian says, sounding touched. "Yes. I want it to be something that's right for both of us, after all. And I suppose I enjoy the subversion of it too… even if I _had_ infinity, I want you more."

He takes Bull's hand, lifting it and kissing it. "Because I want you more than anything. Even the things I was so _certain_ I wanted before."

"What things?" Bull is not blushing, not at all. "Because… perhaps you still can. A snake can bite its own tail and kiss… I… may not have the social standing you would prefer, or magic, but I can clean up nicely."

He tilts his hand, just to run his thumb against the curled flick of hair, over the edge of his lips. "I can't be short, or never fart, or disappear in a regular crowd… but I'm open to hearing anything I _could_ do. Or be. I don't want to limit anything that's still within your reach, kadan. I want to _extend_ it. There has been too much of people saying we can't have things. I want to show you that you can, and more."

Dorian puts a hand on Bull's jaw. "Amatus," he says, "I want _you_. I don't want you to change to fit the image of some fantasy-man I used to imagine being with. I don't even mind the fact you're not a mage, because it gives me something to show off with. What I truly want is someone to make a _life_ with. Someone strong, and intelligent, and fun to be around. Someone who wants me just as much _out_ of bed as in it. And that someone is _you_."

Uncharacteristically, Bull's struggling to meet his gaze, his mouth making fifteen different shapes in the space of a heartbeat. "Well, uh." Shit. Don't go all weird now. "I – I can still be me. But there's plenty of times I can be me… plus extra, for a while. Doesn't mean I'm… different. I'm…"

Fuck. "I'm just… saying… I can bend. Or. Something. Sometimes. Not just… you know, in bed. You don't know if… some of the things you thought about… maybe I'd like them, too. So you can… mention them. Or ask. Or… something. Doesn't need to be now, but I'm prepared to hear what Mr Right looked like before I kidnapped you and poisoned your pretty ass." Yes, he's trying to make light of it. "A lot of me changes, a lot of the time. But it's like outfits, not… like 'me'. And you don't know, maybe I'll like some of it. Didn't know I liked chocolate until I tried it. And I really, _really_ like it."

"If I think of something I want to suggest, I'll say so," Dorian answers, softly. "But you never _have_ to be anything other than you. You are… so very, very much more than I thought the world would ever give me."

Now he's getting emotional too, and he's feeling far too unwell to be emotional, so he rests his head on Bull's chest and just breathes for a moment.

"Alright. It's just an offer. Like I say, I can't suddenly shrink, but… you should feel free to ask. I could always say 'no', if I didn't want to. And… I doubt you'd ever ask me to do something I really didn't want to." Bull crooks his legs, sinking a little lower, giving him more space to stretch and touch. 

"It would still be me. I'm still me when I'm drinking with the Chargers. I'm still me when you're falling asleep in my arms. Don't… assume I'll say no. I probably won't." 

Which is so not what he really wanted to talk about, so he clears his throat. "I think you do owe me a few more pointers, though. Were you intending to plan everything yourself, or was Mr Right going to take the-- of course he wasn't. So what does Mr Right Now need to do? When the world is saved, after all?"

"You mean… for our life together? We go back to Tevinter. I realise we can't just turn up at the family estate in Qarinus, but I have friends in Minrathous. People who can help us get established there. And who can further prove that not _all_ of my countrymen are terrible… though they might lead you to think we _are_ all raging sex maniacs. And then… we work out the best way forward. Honestly, I'm not certain what it is yet, but once we get a few more magisters on our side, things will gather momentum."

Dorian is aware they'll need to form a group. The important thing is to make sure it doesn't look like a cult. Or act like a cult. Or do anything to suggest it might _be_ a cult.

"And if you want to be a part of that – and _I_ want you to be a part of that – then you will be. And if you have any contacts we can use, then that would be good… although I don't want you risking yourself with the Ben-Hassrath, and… and what _are_ we going to do if they find out you've shacked up with an altus mage and are trying to reform the Imperium..?"

"Well, they'll think I'm under deep cover, if I feed them _some_ intelligence. If we wanted to use them, we feed the intel on your enemies and rivals. Easy enough to do. Truth, but the highlights…" It's what he's done all along. 

"Were you planning on waiting to take back your position before the big day? If you're thinking you'll get blessings from folks… you might want to remove those as needed, beforehand." 

He does not want to think too extensively about the Ben-Hassrath. For one, they might hear him. 

"…the wedding?" Dorian says, also happy to be distracted from thinking about the Ben-Hassrath. "I… don't know whether it can happen in Tevinter. Well. It can, but it would take a while before we were able to do it, and I very much doubt any of my family will deign to be involved. I had thought it might be best to do it before we go, so that all of _that_ mess can't influence it. So… that it's right for _us_."

"I'm aware there will be some element of compromise on your dream," Bull concedes, because sadly some things are beyond their control. "But it's your dream. As long as you're there, and as happy as I can possibly assist in… I want you to know you have my full support. I mean it, kadan. Before, after… even both, if you decide we didn't do it big enough the first time around." 

To ensure he rams the point home, he looks very pointedly at him. "I'll be as involved in it as you want me to be, or I'll have the Chargers arrange for whatever it is you ask for. If you want just a pair of hands and shoulders, I'll be that. And if you want more… I'll be that, too. Don't imagine you'll offend me. Remember: it was never even a distant thought for me, so I don't have the… historical associations. You won't tread on toes that didn't exist. So…"

He leans in, pushing their noses together. "If this is one area you _want_ to lead on, I'm fine with that. I just don't want you to feel I'm either overbearing or disinterested. Tell me. And you get whichever me you need, okay?"

Dorian smiles. "I don't deserve you. But I've got you, and you're not getting away from me now, and… and all right, yes, it's something I want to lead on, but I _also_ want you to be part of it, because it's for both of us. So… when the world is saved, we'll work out how to do it. All of it. Even if it's just you, me, and the Chargers."

He realises that will probably be all they get – at least unless they have a rededication ceremony in the future – but there are merits to it. For one thing, it spares everyone from having to make small-talk with people they don't know. Or people they don't like. And if Dorian _was_ to somehow get a big, Tevinter wedding… there would be both of those things in spades.

"That sounds like a plan." Especially the part where Bull can assist, and doesn't have to try to guess to get things right. He probably would, but it's not just about the things, it's about the process. The deciding. And taking that out of his hands would be… wrong. 

You only take over what they want, or need you to. That's always been key for him. 

"Next: you don't like boats. And you didn't tell me. That isn't," a finger goes up, "…a judgement. But instead, I'm going to ask if there are any other things you hate, or want to avoid where possible. And then I want you to tell me of things you _do_ want to do. Either things you know you like, or things you want to try."

Bull knows the more occupied his mind, the better, right now. So it's best to be prepared for it. 

"You know most of it already," Dorian answers. "I hate boats, the cold, blood magic, and Orlesian fashion. And fish. Why would you want to eat something that tastes like the place it lives and consists mostly of bones? Ridiculous. Oh, and I'm allergic to stripweed. Nightmare in the summer."

"As for things I do want to do… well, I'm assuming you _don't_ mean in bed this time, because you already have _quite_ an extensive list in that case. But beyond that… much as I talk about reform in Tevinter, and am committed to fighting for it… what I really want is to go back to magical research. Pushing at the limits of what people believe can be done, to see if there's _more_. I was… so very happy, when I was doing that with Alexius, before things fell apart."

"No stripweed farming, and no fishing holidays… I think I can do that. Means I'll need to vary month five of the honeymoon plan, but…" A man with one eye should not be able to wink. Somehow, Bull still does. 

"I… am assuming that this pushing isn't… involving lyrium, and I know it wouldn't be blood, but… was that dangerous? I don't have your context. I don't know if it's like… training to run something faster, or if it's pouring a shit load of drugs in so your heart nearly explodes…?"

"Sometimes it involves lyrium," Dorian says. "But not me _taking_ it, so you don't have to worry. I only ever take it in a dire emergency, when I need more magic to defend myself than I can summon up. This was _academic_ research. I… told you we were trying to find a cure for the Blight? I mean… we didn't… but sometimes I wonder if it might still be possible. Things like that."

"If you could… it would change attitudes to magic. A lot. And put Grey Wardens out of business, but I don't think they'd mind that." Cure the Blight. It's – it's definitely a big thing, and one Bull had never even considered. Huh. 

"So… not only are you a fashion icon, a cultural revolutionary, a cult-beater and hot as all hell… you're going to change the world of magic. Now I _am_ out of my league. Are you sure _you're_ not Ben-Hassrath, and using me? Or does the Imperium have an organisation even more hidden than the Venatori?" Bull's grin widens. "Did I pass the initiation, or am I just kept for sex and as a meat shield?"

Dorian beams. "I _love_ you for saying fashion icon first. And I promise I'm not secretly a spy, for either side. Although… that's what I _would_ say, isn't it..?"

He's teasing, of course, though it's mostly to hide how affected he is by Bull's words.

"…I'd add something _really_ flirtatious at this point, but if I do, it will just make me even more inclined to attempt something I'll end up regretting. Like moving too fast."

"I'll get whatever it is – and your secret spy ways – out of you when you don't look like you licked a--" Bull has the sense to not continue as originally planned, "…n Orlesian… wallpaper design…" Maybe that's more nauseating? He tried. 

"I'm serious, though. Tevinter – and your father – _and_ Alexius – they really don't appreciate what they've lost, or nearly lost. Which just means that I get to be the one to take you home. On your own terms. And… I need you to know that it's okay. I won't feel… small. Or, not in ways I can't handle. You don't diminish me, and I don't need to compete with you." He steals another quick, chase kiss, then purrs: "Just with everyone else. And we _will_ win those fights. Or tournaments. Or social dances. Our only real disadvantage is we can't make little Dorians. But they'd just get under foot and prevent all that delicious… 'adult time'… we'll be having." 

"Be thankful we _can't_ make little Dorians," the man himself says, with a wry smile. "Thedas is not ready for more than one of me. And… I know I don't diminish you. I can be very… overwhelming… at times, and I like people who don't disappear in that. And who equal it. I _do_ look forward to the two of us being able to show everyone else up at parties, though…"

"Do you already know how to dance backwards, then? Or are you going to put your feet on mine?" Bull chuckles, imagining it now. "I could just lift you up over all of them… ah, kadan, imagine the ardour of the most passionate dances, with me lifting a full grown man in the most glamorous outfits, and you trailing your little lights in arcs of longing… we could all but make love on the dance floor, and everyone will have to watch… And find out we know more about politics than they do, so if they want our help, they have to play nice with _us_ … a statesman by day, a debauched, decadent dilettante by evening, and the world's most satisfied and adored bedmate by night… you can have it all." 

Bull really needs to stop imagining the coordinated routines. It's making him hard again. "And then, when you get bored, you set fire to dragons for fun."

"I know how to dance forwards _and_ backwards," Dorian replies, easily. "And I'm _confident_ we could turn heads – in a good way – without really trying. It'll make us as many enemies as it does friends, but if you're breaking even in that sense, you're doing well."

"…and I'm hoping there won't be _too_ many dragons. Much as that _was_ more fun than I expected, I do still prefer not to be in that amount of mortal peril on a regular basis."

"Dragons sometimes. Bandits other times. Whatever assholes need a boot inserting…" Bull's head bounces left to right. "It was a catch-all. Besides, if we really went hunting them aggressively, we'd run the risk of wiping them out. It should be… special. Not every day." 

Every few days, maybe, or every month? It's not like he has a set schedule to keep to. "And when they find out you are a badass in _that_ sense, too… it'll make a lot of people think twice before they try anything. So we get to take down only high quality enemies." 

He should not be looking forward to assassination attempts, but he sort of is. So long as they aren't too dangerous. Just… dangerous enough. 

"Should I be worried how easily you're taking to this?" Dorian asks, with a little smile. "I didn't think you'd be so… _domestic_." Even if this is domestic in a _Tevinter altus_ sense, which is – by its very nature – somewhat more unpredictable.

It's good, though. It reassures him both that Bull will actually _like_ the life Dorian is aiming for, and that said life will be suitably interesting. Not that he'd expect any less, but the confirmation is still worthwhile.

"You think because I don't wear a shirt that I can't settle down?" Bull snorts. "There's _domesticated_ Qunari, you know. There's a huge population of farmers, workers, craftspeople… it isn't all intrigue and soldiering." He isn't in any way offended, though, and it's clear in his tone. 

"I like a good scrap. I like the blood pumping through my veins. I like… putting things right. But I'm also aware… that I can put things right in other ways. And that I can get my heart racing when we're… tousling. That there's just as much mental agility needed – if not more – in a dinner party as there is in a guerilla warfare situation. It's just…"

Broad shoulders shrug. "I have this physique. Others didn't. So I was given the jobs that others couldn't do. It's…" Hmm, he hadn't thought much about it, before. "I guess… I like the idea. I didn't have plans, not long-long term. I just made the best of any situation I was in. A stage for war, or public speaking… all the same. It'll be _more_ challenging. But I don't intend on wearing starched collars every day. _Or_ being a gentleman in bed."

"I'm glad to hear it!" Dorian says. "And I'm glad to know that my lives in the ballroom, battlefield and bedroom will all be equally _stimulating_."

Cursed libido. Cursed boat. Cursed… OK, no, don't think about it.

"…I hate this wretched ship. Are we there yet?"

He doesn't mean to sound petulant. But all this talk of sex is making him wish he was having some.

"Kadan, do you think it would be better if you could sleep? If you want, either up here, or below deck…" Bull is more than aware of the uncomfortable nature of their predicament. "I could… help. But it wouldn't be… vigorous. If it would help you sleep, after?" 

It's not even offering from selfish reasons. Selfish Bull would like to be very, very vigorous. But he knows Dorian just isn't in the right physical state for that, and he wouldn't want to make him feel any less well than he already does. "If you can be a little more… hmm. A little less volatile and enthusiastic, just for once…?" 

"I'm not sure I could be volatile and enthusiastic if I _tried_ right now," Dorian points out, wretchedly. "I can't promise I'll be entirely quiet, however."

But he's not going to say no, because he _would_ like to sleep, and he would _also_ like some attention from his amatus.

"…take me below deck," he says, and then he hears his own words and laughs. "In both senses of the word. I'll tell you if can't handle it…"

"I was thinking more like I'd take you in _hand_ ," Bull counters, and runs a bent finger around the shell of his ear. "You can bite my shoulder to stay quiet. And then you can maybe sleep… but you have to promise you'll wake me up if you can't, at any point. Even if it's just so I come back up here and keep you warm." His legs stretch out, and he pops a few groans from the joints, before he's urging Dorian to hold on so he can lift up with him still in his arms. 

"I promise," Dorian replies, and holds on tighter. He really is ridiculously grateful for being taken care of like this. Much as he enjoys the attention, he doesn't like coming across as weak, and he hates how badly affected he is right now. At least he can rely on Bull not to take advantage of him… or, not in a bad way, at least.

Bull really should remember not to stay in one place too long, especially when it's cold and damp. Nothing a good stretch won't help, though, as he gets his mate in a secure hold and does his best to reduce the lateral sway as he takes them to the area they've been given. It isn't really much – barely more than a section just off from the main cargo – with a hammock that would never hold him (and which he'd get his horns stuck in) and a small pile of furs and fur-stuffed sacks for pillows. 

Not ideal, but this is only for a few days. 

He gently eases Dorian down, and then moves to prop himself up next to him, in the fluffy nest. It could almost be decadent, if it was beside a big, open fire. And not smelling faintly of salty air and treated wood. 

"Make yourself comfortable, kadan," he says, patting the space next to himself for him to arrange his limbs into. "And remember no fire magic on wooden ships."

Dorian wastes no time doing so, albeit gingerly because of how he still feels. Though it _is_ nice to be out of the worst of the cold, and… he isn't so alarmed down here with Bull right beside him. It isn't the same as before. He isn't _alone_. And he certainly isn't trapped.

"I'll do my best," he replies. Much as a nice fire _would_ warm him up more, the only thing worse than being in a boat on this wretched sea would be _sinking_ in it. Which… OK, no, don't even think about that.

Bull makes sure the furs are pulled up, but not draped heavily over them, and kisses him very lightly again. "Don't you worry about me. If you're still awake after… but if not, I'm fine." He urges Dorian's head to lie on his chest, and palms over his torso and belly, gradually warming him up. "Make little lights if you want to, but nothing hard. Well… nearly nothing." 

Two fingers tap at the bump in Dorian's pants, and then he's stroking him through the fabric. "Allow me to help you feel good."

That makes Dorian murmur in happiness, watching the other man's eyes, and it feels different to know they have to be so careful and still. Not bad, though. Not at all.

"Please," he whispers, softly. "You're so very good at it. I don't know what I'd do without you, especially right now." And he doesn't just mean in the obvious sense.

"Well, you'd likely invent a flying… carpet or something to avoid having to sail… maybe revolutionise travel… find a use for those awful Antivan shag rugs…" Bull uses just the back of his hand, small circles with his knuckles, making sure he doesn't rush things and cause more discomfort.

Then his hand turns, and large fingers flick and un-notch buckles, opening him slowly, then pushing his fingers into the gap to tease with light rubs and jostles. 

"Imagine we're in our home. Our final, real home. Or one of many. Imagine the sound of the sea is over the walls, and it's kissing the shore as you lie safely with me. You don't have to get up, not any time soon. It's still early, or is it that it hasn't stopped being late? I'm touching you, and you smile and know you don't have to do anything but enjoy it…" 

" _Amatus_ ," Dorian breathes, putting a hand up to hold onto him, but gently, and not to interfere. "I've never settled. Not truly. But I want that with you."

The soft touches feel so very good. He's aroused enough to want more, but without the oh-fuck-yes-harder furiousness they usually go for. Because he can do slower, too. He can. With the one person he trusts to keep seeing him in the same light, no matter what. The one person he doesn't have to worry about constantly impressing.

"You weren't settled, because you hadn't found me, yet," Bull murmurs. "How could you be ready to sit still when you were all alone? But now you're not, and you can relax, sometimes." Not always. But enough. Bull closes his eye, letting himself paint the picture more vividly by removing the parts of their surroundings that don't lend to it. 

"The window is cracked, so you can smell the air, and you know the workers walk outside and so you have to be quiet. But also, if you're quiet, it means you can hear the way my breath hitches when your thighs tense, or your belly draws in. You can focus purely on the sensations, and let them slide over you like you're already so, so far under."

With care, he tugs the silken underthings down enough to free his lover's cock, and starts to slide over the silkier skin he's bared. It's a lovely cock, made even lovelier by who it belongs to, and Bull enjoys chasing the veins over the surface. Pushing a thumb under the tip. Urging his interest higher, without crashing it through his body. "The pillows smell of us. The bed dips where we each sleep. The room is so quiet, it feels like an act of private worship and commitment, as I taste the words from your throat before they reach your lips…" He leans in, soft, suckling kisses over a bared neck, his hand moving to stroke faster. He's hard as hell, but denying it is making it all the sweeter as he focuses on the fantasy and the man he's trying to coast through it. 

" _Ohyes_ ," Dorian breathes, closing his eyes and just letting the sensations wash over him. Letting himself sink into the mental image, partly for the escape, and partly because it's so very lovely. "Silk sheets, already rumpled from whatever we did the evening before… the top-blanket still tangled on my side from when I got cold in the night… and _you_. Always you. A new ring on your finger, your dragon tooth at your neck… my mark on your shoulder…"

He rocks his head back as the attention gets a little more intense, whimpering softly and aware of just how much he needs right now.

Bull can't help but tighten the grip his lips have, swallowing and licking between his lips, urging more of that talk. Dorian's as into it as he is, and it's like nails raked down his spine, with kisses following just after. He pushes his nose under Dorian's jaw, keeping his head back, breathing over his bared throat. 

"It doesn't matter what time it is. It doesn't matter who walks past and hears you whimpering. It doesn't matter. Because you're in my arms, in our bed. You're where you belong, and you can let me take care of you, because it makes me happy to take care of you. You can let me hold you, and kiss you, and stroke you until you spill over my hand and stain the sheets again. We've lost count how many times since we climbed in, and only the hunger in your belly or the hunger to save the world will pull you to your feet… and only then for a day before you fall back into my arms where you belong…"

His hand tightens, fast, then slow strokes. He doesn't want to take too long, but he doesn't want to spoil it with rushing, either. That perfect spot where it's starting to draw out, but before his kadan is too fractious for his own good. "You know I'll never get enough of you. You know you simply have to sigh and I want you. Want you bent in two. Want you up against the wall. Wrapped around me. On your knees with your throat working over me. Sinking into you, hard or slow… drawn out until your legs shake, or so fast the splash comes before the scream… Know I want to hold you, after, as the sweat dries from the gleam to the dust of old lust… to bring you the finest treats and delicacies… to sit in the shade, hiding from the noon-day sun as it tries to steal a look at whatever book you're studying… know I want you when you're sleeping on my chest, wandering through realms and tethered by the heat wrapped around you… dancing through social knives, duelling the world with your silver tongue… angry and sad and tired and happy and confused and eager and weary and excited… all of my kadan, always…" 

" _Y-yes_ ," Dorian gasps, "oh yes… yes… I want that… want all of that… want _you_ … p-please… want you forever… want you rough, and gentle, and everything in between… want the world to see how happy we are, in defiance of all their expectations… want… _want_ … oh… amatus… I'm so close… so very… I… _fuckyesloveyou_ …"

And he comes, a slow, luxurious bliss washing through him at the release; needing it so badly but knowing he can just relax and enjoy every second, and it's so damn good he's not even thinking about the stupid boat anymore… just his amatus, and how much he needs him, and how incredible he is…

…and even as the bliss starts to fade, his mind starts to drift, as exhaustion and completion intermingle, and it's just too good to resist…

"You will have it. All of it. And more, kadan. I will give you everything I can, and anything I can learn how. I love you, I love you so much." Bull strokes, slower, softer, milking the last little thrusts and spurts from him. Cuddling him closer, and making him as comfortable as he can. 

As Dorian starts to settle, he reaches for his own cock, beating as fiercely as he can without disturbing the man falling asleep against him. He can appreciate the fantasy, still, and also the knowledge that he's helping in this very-much not-ideal situation. It's rough and dirty, but it's made all the sweeter for the tickly, stubbly nuzzling against his chest. 

"S-sleep, kadan," he burbles out, on the rush of his own climax. "Sleep… you're home, I have you, and no one can take you away from me. Shhh…"

"L-love you…" Dorian murmurs, as his mind slips into sleep, and blessed darkness overtakes.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand we're back! Here's the final batch of chapters for this part...
> 
> ...and yes, we'll get to _that_ at the end! ;-)

The crossing to Amaranthine feels like it takes a thousand years. In truth, it's only a couple of days, but they're not days Dorian enjoys… certain, select moments aside.

By the time the _Flying Griffon_ makes port at the city docks, Dorian is practically waiting by the gangplank, until the glorious moment comes when the sailors slide it into place – giving him a dubious look, to match all the other looks he's gotten from them – and he can hurry out along it, onto blessed dry land.

The urge to drop to his knees and embrace it is strong, but he's just about sensible enough not to. Just about.

"I never thought I'd be so happy to see Ferelden," he remarks.

"And here was you sure you'd hate it… when it's just as shit as everywhere else," Bull jokes, clapping his shoulder companionably. "But at least it doesn't sway."

"Not without ale, first," Stitches agrees, stretching out. "The inn should be just up the road. I'll go ask about any stick-shaking Vints, shall I?"

"Take Skinner," Krem agrees. 

"The lack of swaying is _quite_ something," Dorian says, still too happy about it to be facetious. "And the further away from the docks we get, the better it will smell."

Probably. This _is_ still a fairly large city, after all, and some things don't change.

And… he wonders if Alexius is here. He might be. They've been closing the gap for days, riding harder and faster than a man like Alexius and his entourage would travel. Whether it's enough… Dorian knows they'll find out sooner or later.

"You okay getting the horses?" Bull asks his lieutenant.

"Sure thing, Chief. Don't think you've got time before I get back with them."

"Not if I go the pace I want to," Bull answers, without a beat. And elbows Krem affectionately. "Go on."

Alone for just a few more minutes, Bull strolls companionably forwards, taking Dorian further inland. "Now's the time to tell me the plan. If we corner your guy, what kind of tactics can we expect? What do we need to do to suppress him but not… you know. Go too far?"

Dorian knows they probably should have had this conversation before, when there was still enough space for him to be… not unemotional, no, because that's impossible, but certainly more objective. But now, wondering if the man he's been chasing all this time might be around the next corner…

"Let me talk to him first," he answers. "I might be able to reason with him. I… realise that's unlikely, but I have to try. I owe him that much. And if… if it all comes to blows…"

A pause. He and Alexius have duelled – on friendly terms – many times, but it's different when it's in anger. When it's real.

"…he's powerful. _Very_ powerful. He's also a Rift Mage, which means he can use the Veil itself as a weapon. But… he's not so skilled in close quarters. He'll try to keep at range, which means you'll stand a far better chance if you stay on top of him. And… several of his favoured attacks require a staff to channel them, so if you can physically disarm him somehow, it will help."

Bull nods. "I'm going to guess you won't… want to. So if you can hold him suppressed enough, or keep anyone off my flanks… I'll go in and subdue him, as best I can. But only when I think it's necessary, or you tell me it is."

He cocks his head. "What signal? When do I move? I'll be following your lead, as much as I can." 

"I fear the signal will be him attacking us," Dorian replies. "If that doesn't happen… we might have another way out of this. And I won't attack first unless he forces my hand."

A pause. A sigh. "He's not stupid. If he thinks he can't win, he won't fight to the death. So you have to make him feel like he's overwhelmed. He's also not travelling alone, so he won't be the only one we have to deal with, and…"

Dorian bites his lip. "…if Felix is there, please try not to get him killed. This whole mess… it's not his fault."

"Kadan." Bull grabs his hand. "That kid saved you. You weren't with it at the time, but he told me his father was there, healed you, and helped me get you out of there. Without knowing me, a Qunari. I owe him everything, so there's no way in hell I'll see him get hurt. He… you matter to one another. Like Krem matters to me. I get it." 

Bull squints. "Can we use Felix, though? To tip things… without uncovering his… 'weakness'?"

That makes Dorian sigh again, more painfully this time. "…Gereon won't want anything happening to his son. So… if you threaten him…"

He bites his lip, hating every word. "…I don't want it to come to that. I don't. But… it would probably work."

"If I do… I want you to know, it would never come to anything. No matter how convincing I am, the only way I'd hurt him would be if it was the _only_ way to save you. And even then, I'd keep the harm minimal." Bull looks away, sheepish. "I can't say I wouldn't hurt him, if it was my only option. But I can say it would be the very, very last one. And I'd try to make it up to both of you, if I was forced to." 

He glances back up. "I was hoping, instead, that Felix might… be able to tip things our way, without exposing himself as on our side." 

"He might," Dorian agrees. "I don't believe he'll outright betray his father, but I do believe he doesn't agree with him. He may even join us in trying to talk Gereon down."

How did it come to this? Dorian wishes he knew. Part of him wishes he'd just kept indulging the man, so things between them never fell apart. But… sooner or later, they would have done, because Felix was still sick, and Gereon couldn't stop it. And eventually, the Venatori would become the only option he had left.

"Is there anything else the guys should know? Before we go looking for them? Cause… they want to help. And if you tell them who to aim for, they will. They don't know who is who, though, so it might help if you loudly say their names to stop any confusion." Bull hasn't met Alexius, and only briefly met Felix. He knows he could identify that one, but Alexius would be guesswork only, until he or Dorian spoke. 

"…You'll know, trust me," Dorian answers, wryly. "You know that mental image people have when you say 'Tevinter magister'? Alexius fits it perfectly. Plus I suspect he'll have plenty to say to me. And…"

Another little pause, a clear sign of just how wound Dorian is right now, especially when he's still recovering from being stuck on that accursed boat.

"…He may try to recruit me. Don't think for one second that it will work."

Bull's hand comes down on the back of Dorian's neck, squeezing lightly. "Point Felix out to them. And I _know_ he won't get you. And I also know if you play along… that it's not real. So don't you worry, even if I'm in the same tale you're spinning. I trust you with my _guys_. That should tell you everything." 

Dorian reaches up, putting his hand over Bull's. "I know you do. I know. And I want to make sure I live up to that trust. I'll… tailor the conversation, so everyone knows who everyone else is. Gereon won't attack outright, so we'll have time. I just don't know how much."

"And… I'm glad you're here. Not just because you're damn tall and clearly good at hitting people until they snap, though that does help. But… I couldn't do this without you."

"I _am_ damn tall," Bull agrees, then crooks his finger under Dorian's chin, tugging him onto the balls of his feet as he dips down to kiss him quickly. "And you never have to do this without me, not ever again. Can't say I'd _be_ here, without you. Well. We both know I wouldn't be. But the fact of the matter is: I am. You are. And we will get through it. There's a very large bed with 'oh fuck yes' written on the ceiling above it, and if we don't get to it, the universe will be very disappointed." 

"Now _that_ part, I agree with wholeheartedly," Dorian replies, smiling. "Especially after our oh-so-lovely boat trip over here. Let's hope we find Alexius quickly and sort this out, so that you and I can find a nice inn with a proper fire and not leave our room for a week…"

It's a dream, and he knows it. But it's a good dream.

"A week? I was thinking of buying the place for the month, and testing out how married life would suit us." Bull slaps his ass with the other hand, then squeezes what he's grabbed. "Gotta show you how domesticated I can be. And by domesticated…"

He runs his tongue around the curve of his ear. "…I mean how happy I am being in one place, but several positions, if it means you're there, with me. And if that doesn't motivate you to save the world…"

"Oh, you're already _quite_ motivational enough, amatus," Dorian points out, happily; leaning unashamedly into the contact. "Never doubt that." 

"Good to know. Still not going to let my guard down." Another pinch, and then he pulls back to gaze heatedly, but affectionately, down at him. "Anyway, when we do save the world, we'll need you to rest on dry land a while before we put you back on a boat. So renting a place for a while is totally the logical thing to do."

"…can't we just go the long way round?" Dorian murmurs, which is both technically possible and clearly ridiculous. "Whatever I might think of Orlais, I'd still prefer it to that accursed sea…"

Just as he's about to continue heaping dislike upon the waves, Dorian spots the three Chargers heading back over to join them… and from the looks on their faces – even Skinner's – something's clearly happened.

"…oh dear, I think we're about to get bad news," he remarks.

"Is there even any other kind?" Bull props his chin on Dorian's head, and holds his hips from behind. Mostly because he wants to. 

"Chief, Dorian… apparently while we were on that boat, some weird shit happened," Krem opens with.

"You don't say."

"Word is there was some official meeting with mages and Chantry. Scuttlebutt is that the Divine is dead, and there's some weird magical hole in the sky."

" _Vashedan katoh-qalaba bas_ Venatori! Ugh! Kadan… tell me this isn't as bad as it sounds? They got the bastard Darkspawn, didn't they?"

For a long moment, Dorian just stares. He feels like his mind has hit a wall and everything has gone blurry, and he doesn't quite know what to do. He's scared. He's worried. He's angry. And… he's intrigued.

"…My guess would be yes," he manages. "Unless there's _two_ separate world-ending calamities happening simultaneously, in which case I shall be lodging a formal complaint with the Maker, because I only have so many hands and so much time in the day, and…"

…OK, no, don't think that, one problem at a time…

"…the White Divine is _dead?_ That's… it could destabilise the entire south."

Which means it's probably the point. _Fenhedis_.

"…we're not too late, are we?" Bull pulls him back, into his chest. "First the Circles, now the Chantry… is there anything in this blighted world that's safe?" 

He understands the geopolitics as much as anyone, and he can't help but wonder if there's more than just Tevinter cultists at play, now. 

"The Chantry – uh – a huge load of people went to where it went down. No idea if it's templars, or Chantry or…"

"Where?"

"Somewhere between Orlais and Ferelden. Haven? Yeah. Haven."

Bull looks up, consulting his mental map. "Temple of Sacred Ashes. Sounds like the kind of place the Divine would want to meet. Huh. Never been there, yet. Suspect we will soon need to."

It's a testament to how wound-up Dorian is now that he doesn't even _remark_ on the fact that the Temple is… was… up in the Frostbacks. Where it snows. _All the time_.

He's far more concerned about the immediate situation.

"I would imagine so," he says, instead. "And… you say there's a _hole_ in the sky? Is it..?" A pause, as his mind tries to work this out. "…Did someone rip open the Veil?"

"Dunno. Folks are scared, and most of them don't understand magic, but if you think that's what it is, it probably is." Krem rubs the back of his neck. "It's bad, is all I know."

"And just in case you thought we were done," Stitches joins in. "You want to give them the 'good' news? That they finally gave you?" He looks to the female of the party expectantly. 

Skinner nods, and the way she puts her hands on the hilts of her daggers tells Dorian _exactly_ what she's going to say, before she says it. "Yeah. I think I found your magister. Word is there's a group of Vints staying at an inn on the edge of the city. Slightly fancier place called the Cousland Arms. Apparently they got here yesterday and bought up all the rooms. They're making people edgy, but they haven't caused trouble yet. _Yet_."

"…Fuck," Dorian breathes. He knows this is technically good news, because the whole point of this is to catch Alexius _before_ he does something stupid, and if he's still here, then he can't have been personally involved in _whatever_ has happened in the Frostbacks, but… he's _here_. Which makes it suddenly so much more real. "We have to confront him. Ideally in the open. I don't want him threatening the locals any more than he already has."

"Alright. Shelve the sky shit for now, deal with what's in front of our noses, first," Bull says, his voice falling into Boss Mode automatically. "We aren't looking for a fight if we can reason with him, but we need to be ready _for_ it. There'll be several mages, and the son – Felix – is off-limits."

"We on 'incapacitate' orders?" Krem asks.

"Until there's no alternative. Get in close quarters and lock them down. Dorian will be able to counter a lot of shit, but the best thing to do is stop them casting in the first place. And that's _if_ he can't talk them down."

Although Bull suspects it might be unavoidable. 

"Any questions?"

"You get any idea of the layout of the inn?" Krem asks. 

"Two floors," Skinner answers. "Big drinking area on the ground, rooms up above, separate stable block. Fairly new place, built after all that business with the Darkspawn just after the Fifth Blight. More stone than wood. Less flammable."

Probably wise, if you've lived through a time when Darkspawn tried to burn your city to the ground. No wonder they named the inn after the woman who stopped it.

"Let me talk to them first," Dorian says. "Don't attack unless they do. And if they do… be careful. I want them alive if at all possible, like Bull says, but not at the expense of any of you. Or any of the locals. If what they're saying about Haven is true, there's been more than enough bloodshed."

As in, any. Any is more than enough.

"You want me to stand back, or be beside you?" Bull asks, clearly preferring one of the options, but ready to listen. 

"I need you beside me," Dorian answers, not hiding the emotion in his voice. "I want him to see that I'm not alone. That even if he turns on me… he doesn't get to win."

A pause. A long, deep breath. "Let's just do this. Before I change my mind."

Bull grips his hip harder. "I'll be right there with you. No matter what."

And then, to the rest: "Alright, Chargers: horns **up**."

***

The Cousland Arms stands on the southern edge of Amaranthine. It's the area of the city worst hit by the Darkspawn attacks following the Fifth Blight, and many of the buildings look pretty new. The inn itself is on the edge of the countryside, built of local stone and with a separate stable block beside it. Hanging above the main entrance is a painted wooden sign depicting two crossed laurel branches: the arms of the Cousland family, the rulers of Highever, and from whose bloodline the now-legendary Hero of Ferelden was descended.

The people here must have all sorts of stories about those days. About the Blight, and the attacks that followed, and the Warden-Queen who saved the city. And, under different circumstances, Dorian knows he could spend ages talking to them about it. Learning all he could. Maybe even more about the strange, talking Darkspawn that briefly roamed the arling…

…but no. One thing at a time.

There are horses visible in the stables, and one look at their livery tells Dorian that he hasn't accidentally stumbled across a _second_ itinerant magister and their entourage. No. This is definitely Alexius, and this is definitely happening.

He takes a deep breath, and pushes open the main door, leading the way inside.

Within, the inn looks warm and homely. A fire crackles in the grate, and the smell of something delicious cooking is wafting through from the kitchen. The innkeep – a tall, rather imposing woman – gives Dorian a resigned look as she sees him, clearly thinking he's connected to her other patrons.

Who… are here. Here, by the fire, having a drink together.

Alexius. Felix. Two other magisters – a man and a woman – neither of whom Dorian recognises, but who are clearly more junior, from their attire. Four other humans, obviously subordinate but still free men. And… four slaves, all of them elves, standing nearby in attendance.

And the entire group is now staring at Dorian, and it's clear they all know precisely who he is.

"Gereon," Dorian starts out, in his most-disarming tone. "What a charming surprise. Clearly you and I have the same taste in drinking establishments."

"Dorian," the man replies, hand pausing half-lifted to his lips, curled around a glass of wine. "And… I am assuming this is your… escort?"

"Something like that," Bull gruffs. But he's supposed to be polite, and there's no spells flying yet. "The Iron Bull. Dorian speaks highly of you."

"He does, I'm sure." Gereon Alexius doesn't give the Qunari much more attention. "Is it too much to ask if you've come to your senses?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," Dorian replies. He's doing his utmost to keep his voice level, and calm, and reasonable, but the mere sight of the other man is making _all_ the emotions flood back. "Whatever your involvement in all this is… it's not too late to turn back. Let me help. We were always best when we were working together."

"My boy, why don't you sit and have a drink with us? Since you… left, there has been much of interest happen. And I heard as well that you have been busy. I never expected you would come this far south. You find us at a most auspicious time, too."

_Fuck_ , but Dorian wants to say yes. And not, for once, because he wants a drink. He and Alexius once had the most amazing conversations, about anything and everything, and until he met Bull, it was easily the most alive Dorian had ever felt.

"I know that," he says, not moving. Not wanting to let himself appear swayed by his former mentor's words, not even a little. "And the templar? The one you sent after me? Was he _auspicious_ as well, or just another convenient tool in your arsenal?"

Bull moves one foot, just slightly, so their boots touch. Barely visible to anyone, and a silent message of support. He can feel the pressure in Dorian's voice, and he's not happy. But he knows this has to happen.

"I asked them to bring you in alive." Gereon's answer is curt, but certain. "I had hoped he would find you, and bring you to me so you could see reason. We did always work best, together, and if you saw what I could now accomplish… it is everything we dreamed of, and more!"

"Is it, now?" Dorian replies. His voice is still level, but you don't have to know him well to hear the tension behind it. "You and I clearly have different dreams, because _mine_ don't involve selling my soul and my homeland to an ancient _Darkspawn_. Or sending a _very_ nasty southern templar after someone I purport to care about."

He should stop. He really should. He doesn't.

"You know he tried to kill me? I suppose you wouldn't. I almost died. I _would_ have died, if Bull hadn't saved my life. Is that what you wanted? To just get me out of the way? The _least_ you could have done is faced me yourself, rather than sending some barbaric foreigner to do your dirty work."

"That is **enough**." The man rises, every inch the image of an imperious magister, and unafraid to show it. His companions all snap into more alert postures, reaching for, or more tightly gripping their staves. 

" _Easy, now_ ," Bull rumbles, lowly, directed to everyone at once. 

"I offered you a place by my side, _despite_ the disrespect you showed to me. And I tried once again to bring you home… Tevinter is not the empire it should be, not any more. The Elder One will rectify this mistake. The Imperium will be what it always should be, and we will regain our rightful place in Thedas." 

"Yeah," Bull jumps in, unable to hold his tongue any more. "Power, glory, all that shit… but you nearly had him murdered and you think that's a group worth believing in?"

"Do not speak to me, Tal-Vashoth! And Dorian – is that truly all you want? To fight me, rather than to take your rightful place? Perhaps your father was right about you, after all."

"Disrespect Bull again and you and I are going to have a problem," Dorian says, that faux-level tone giving way to the anger underneath. "More than we already do. And don't bring my father into this. We _both_ know he's a hypocrite. I merely thought _you_ were better than that. You used to talk about the value of research, and knowledge, and _respect_ for magic… and, what, life gets tricky so you shack up with a Darkspawn? I almost wish you were possessed by something, because at least it would explain this _madness_."

His blood is burning now, and it takes all his control not to brandish his own staff. But that doesn't stop his fingertips from _itching_ with the need to act.

"The Elder One _is_ Tevinter, and _is_ magic, unlike the heathens and miscreants you always seem to find yourself in the company of! Enough!" 

Behind Gereon, everyone bar Felix jumps to their feet, staves in hand. 

"Stop this!" Felix implores, staying where he is but clearly torn. "Father, please. We don't have to fight."

"You should listen to him," Dorian says, though his own staff is raised as well now. "Before you do something we'll _all_ regret."

"It's _because_ of him I'm **doing this**!" Gereon's hand lifts, and the air tinges green.

Bull doesn't spare a second thought. He's between Dorian and Alexius immediately, head lowered, axe lifted, charging in to disrupt the spell before it can resolve. Magic snaps around from all sides, but he knows the value in taking out the ringleader. In both terms of morale, and stopping the highest risk dead in its tracks.

Plus, he's the one most likely to hurt Dorian, and Dorian be less ready to defend himself against. 

Something crashes around his head, but he's knocked the staff from his grip, and that was his primary goal. He just hopes everyone behind him is holding up, as he staggers back upright, watching Alexius scramble for range. 

" _Felix, get down!_ " Dorian howls, desperately, flicking up a barrier and then flinging his arms out, flooding the air with vibrant purple light which immediately converges on every member of Alexius' group. It's a nasty little necromantic-school spell, which should instill a sense of deep horror in anyone whose barrier it breaks through.

Dorian feels like it's been cast on him already, even though it hasn't. His heart is pounding, and he can see this all going to the Void faster than… well. Faster than his _last_ fight with Alexius.

" **Not in my fucking pub!** " screams the innkeep, from where she's sheltering behind the bar. "Stop that at once, or I'm calling the city guard!"

"Don't," Krem barks. "Don't get more people at risk. We've got this. Push 'em outside!"

Bull can't see Alexius anymore, because there's a wall of three mages and – shit – they're supposed to be avoiding as much collateral damage as possible. He hears the screaming, and he can see from the swirls that Dorian is still up, so he turns his axe-handle in his grip and uses it as a quarterstaff, shoving at the mages to avoid any bloody injury, and hopefully herd them towards the door. "Get your Darkspawn-worshipping asses _outside_ so I can show you why your fucking people _aren't_ in charge!"

And Dorian… Dorian is not in his own head any longer. Not really. He's aware of things, but he's processing them on a different level, as if the wave of terror has pushed him beyond emotion and into something else. Something more… clinical.

He is, however, distantly aware that what he's about to do is a little extreme. But if they fight in close-quarters like this, people are going to get killed.

He glances back at the innkeep. "I am so fucking sorry," he says, and means it…

…as he turns, and _slams_ forwards with a great wave of force that sends one of the junior magisters flying, and then smashes a sizeable hole in the wall.

Because… the door is too small. And he needs them all outside _now_.

Stone and mortar flies in all directions, as late-afternoon daylight floods the room, along with cooler air, and the sound of distant shouts of alarm.

"Call for the fucking backup!" Alexius snarls, as he points his staff towards the wall of bottles, raining down wet, sharp shards over the inkeep and Krem. 

Krem jumps onto the counter, shield up and over his head as he tries to shelter the poor woman from the worst of it. "Keep pushing!" he yells. 

Bull has knocked five of them out, very physically, and not at all politely, by the time he spots: "Wardens! Give us a fucking hand, here! These Vint assholes are ruining the neighbourhood!"

Grey Wardens. Three of them – and all mages, judging by their staves and armour – come striding over. They're no doubt stationed at Vigil's Keep, watching over the city in case any more weird Darkspawn turn up. Dorian would feel sorry for them, walking into this mess, were it not for the fact that some more allies would _really_ help here.

"Him!" he yells, gesturing to the wardens and then in Alexius' direction. "He's the one in charge! Take him down, and this will end!"

The wardens glance at each other, and something about the way they do that is so very… _off_ …

…and then one of them launches a fireball right at Dorian's head; the other two immediately going after Bull.

" _What the fuck?!_ " Dorian howls, as he hits the ground hard – narrowly avoiding getting lit on fire – and tries to re-cast his barrier. "They're supposed to be the good guys!"

"Didn't get the memo, or maybe they don't like horns?" Bull yells back, as he kicks a table that had followed them through in the direction of one warden, and takes a scorch across the chest from the other. It makes one hand spasm, and he redoubles his grip as he hurtles towards them. 

"Chief, they're going for the horses!" Krem's clearly bloodied, but it's difficult to work out where the main source is. His hands are locked and shaking on his sword. 

They're badly outnumbered, worse so now there's more fucking mages on the other side, and Bull… it's just…

You do what you need to. You do what you have to, in order to survive. His head is full of knowledge, and he's one step away from the mindless, furious rage that cuts swathes through anything ahead of it. One step away and--

He sees Felix. 

None of this is fair. But you have to survive.

Bull has the handle of his axe around Felix's throat before he can even blink. " _I'm his amatus_ ," he hisses, so only the young man can hear. Hear, and hopefully understand enough to play along.

" **ALEXIUS, YOU DARKSPAWN-WORSHIPPING SHIT. PUT DOWN YOUR FUCKING WEAPONS OR I TAKE YOUR SON'S HEAD AND WRAP IT UP NICE AND NEAT FOR YOU.** " 

Bull really, really hopes Dorian knows he wouldn't. Or, can remember it when everything's this far to shit. He refuses to make eye-contact, needing the fiction to hold up. They're very badly outnumbered, and they're still trying to incapacitate several, instead of kill. Or, he and Dorian are, at least. 

Felix clearly doesn't have to fake the terror, because even if you think the giant Qunari grabbing you by the throat _isn't_ about to kill you, it doesn't change the fact that there's _a giant Qunari grabbing you by the throat_.

"Father!" he calls out. "Father, please! Do as he says!"

Dorian, meanwhile, whirls around in a haze of flame – his own, this time – and smashes one of the inexplicably-hostile wardens aside before his eyes find Alexius again. "Gereon, please, see reason!" he implores.

"You leave my son **_ALONE_**!" Gereon's eyes are furious, and far, far beyond reason. His lips curl back in a protective snarl, his staff shaking from his outrage.

"Surrender. Put down. Your weapons." Bull says the words fiercely, but as levelly as he can. He doesn't want this escalating any further, and there is – for a moment – no blows or bolts traded.

He can almost see it happening, played out on the other man's face. How he sizes Bull's frame up, assesses if anyone can get a fast enough shot before he snaps Felix's neck. The fingers arching, one after the other, running through options faster than words. 

Bull needs to understand him. Needs to know if he's still able to be who Dorian said he once was. Needs to know if he holds back, or--

Something clicks, because there's a line around Alexius' jaw. He's processed something. Three heartbeats and he's made his plan, and Bull can't see where his eyes go, but it's something behind him he didn't factor in.

The inn? The fact they're outside? Oh, shit. He took out the bar to see if Krem would actually help, and now he's going to--

"Let. Him. **GO**." Alexius twists the sky above his staff, pulling pressure and folding the air and the Veil alongside it. He flings out fire, and it goes way, way overhead. 

Collateral fucking damage. They'd been too loud about wanting to avoid it, and now he's--

" _Kadan_?" Bull asks, without turning his head. 

All of the emotion smashes back into Dorian's mind in that one, horrible second. He understands, too. He understands, and he's repulsed by the thought that a man he once respected so utterly would resort to something so _wrong_.

"Let him go!" Dorian replies, though it's clear from his voice how much he hates having to say it. "Otherwise his father is going to kill innocent people, and I won't stand for that!"

He doesn't have a choice, now. He's been taking on the others because he can't bear the thought of fighting Alexius… but if he doesn't stop him soon, this is going to turn into a massive disaster.

" **Gereon!** " Dorian shouts. "I implore you, please, stop this madness!"

There's no hesitation. Bull lets the axe fall from one hand, and uses his knee to push Felix away from him. He's desperate to see what damage he's just caused, but he can't turn his back on this damn fight. 

"If you love these filthy southerners so much, you should go and save them," Alexius spits, as his son comes closer, but doesn't go to his side. "Don't try to follow us. I won't let you go a third time." 

"Chief…" Krem sounds winded. "Chief… it's the _school_."

Sure enough, the screaming voices that are getting louder are all ranges, but especially higher ones. Bull nearly snaps his weapon in half, torn utterly in two. "Kadan – we have to!" 

The other three are already running to assist, as the Tevinter-Warden party coalesces into one, tight-knit formation against a mage and a Qunari. The odds are nothing anyone but the most addicted gambler would want to wager on. 

"You won't get the chance," Dorian throws back at Alexius. "Get the fuck out of here."

And he turns, not bothering to wait for a reply; hurrying over to Bull and looking over at what is obviously the local school building, very much on fire. And made mostly of wood.

"Get the kids out!" he says. "I'll do what I can about the flames!"

Dorian's mana is low, he can feel it, but there's no way – _no_ way – he's letting innocents get hurt because of this. **Especially** children. He yanks out a vial of lyrium, curses under his breath, and downs the lot… and then he's casting wave after wave of ice magic like the world depends on it. And right now… he's confident it does.

Bull throws his axe to one side – he needs both arms – and runs into the building. He can't think about anything but the next little life, can't think about anything other than finding all of them. Not about Alexius, not about – about Seheron – not about anything but the small bodies he's stuffing under his arms and over his shoulders. 

It's three runs? Thirty? Bull isn't sure. His lungs burn from the smoke, even if the flames are out, by the time someone – Stitches? – grabs his wrist. 

"The teacher says you got them all," Stitches says, trying to calm him.

"What if they miscounted?" Bull manages to ask. It happens. There could be another. Someone trapped. Choking. Smothered in soot and--

"She's sure," Stitches reassures him. "I need you to sit down. I can't check everyone over at once."

"Dorian?"

"Over there. Not hurt. In shock. Go sit with him, Chief. It'll be okay. You got them all out. We got them all out."

Bull can't calm his head. It's not thoughts, not in any verbal sense. A mess of thoughts firing like rockets sent into the sky. A noise. A smell. He sees Krem leaning back against a tree, arm draped over his shield, bandaged. He sees Skinner standing guard over him, hands on her hilts. 

A circle of children, some crying, some just huddled together. Parents wrapping around them. Everyone in the damn town, a line of bucket-throwers breaking up.

And Dorian. Off to one side. 

Bull fights the urge to cough up a lung, and forces his legs to walk in his direction. 

Dorian doesn't know how long it's been since his lyrium-fuelled mana also ran out. Since he fell to his knees, gasping from having been too close to the smoke, right after fighting in such a vicious battle. And now… now he can't really move; staying where he is, staff on the ground at his side, only really processing that they're not dead and little beyond.

Certainly not the crucial part. Because he can't think about _that_.

He's aware people are injured. Aware he could help, if only he had the strength to summon up enough mana for even the simplest spell. But… he can't, he can't, and it's like when the templar was suppressing him but _worse_ , because this time it's all his fault.

…Templars. Fuck. Everyone will know there's just been a huge mage-battle. Which means sooner or later the local templars will turn up, and Dorian doesn't want to be around them for one _fucking_ minute, and…

He's shaking, every inch of him as tense as stone. And it _hurts_ , though he's not really conscious of the pain yet.

Bull wonders what the easiest way down is, and decides it's to put one hand on Dorian's shoulder, and see what happens next. "Kadan," he says, as his hand makes contact. "It's me."

Maybe he should have announced his presence sooner, but it's not like a Qunari who isn't trying moves all that quietly. 

Dorian blinks up at him. He's not even aware of quite how much of a state he's in; streaked with rock-dust, soot, and a little blood (some his, some decidedly not), and there are tear-tracks through the battle-dirt from ones he doesn't even know he's shed.

"…I fucked it up," he murmurs, distantly. "I had one chance, and I fucked it up."

" _No_ ," Bull says, and grips harder. "You didn't. You didn't. No one died. No one died, because of you." 

With a grunt, he goes down to one knee, then gets his legs in front of him to sit beside Dorian. Bull presses against his flank, offering support and comfort, first. "We were outnumbered, but we're still standing. We got information. And we scared the fucking shit out of him."

"…he nearly killed everyone," Dorian says, and it's obvious he's not _here_ right now. Not really. He moves where he's pulled, but there's no other physical response. "And… those wardens… he's got wardens on his side… how has he even done that? And I… fuck, I should have stopped him, should have…"

Bull can recognise the early stages of _asala-taar_ better than most, so he works carefully, making sure he can see where the dagger is, and where the staff is. Not because he worries Dorian will use them, just that he might forget where they are. He puts a hand in the small of his back, and starts to gradually stroke up and down, then in tight circles, trying to ground him and give him a sense of his body. 

"He didn't. He didn't kill anyone, because we stopped him. _You_ stopped him. And everyone here saw it. It was **his** choice. His actions. And you saved them. You did the right thing, and no one thinks otherwise."

Which is important, even if Dorian won't hear it, just yet. He can't see how it could have gone any better, not without them having five times the forces on their side. "You stopped him from hurting anyone. And you found out a lot of useful information. And he can't get that far ahead. We'll catch up to him, and we'll be _ready_." 

"…I'm going to have to kill him," Dorian manages. "Until I met you, he was the most important person in my life. And I'm going to have to kill him."

The slow, gentle contact starts pulling his mind through the fog, but that means a fresh wave of emotion hits him, and all of a sudden he's choking back a sob. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think he'd stoop to hurting innocents. Especially…"

He can't even say it. It's bad enough on its own, but considering Bull's past… it's _painfully_ wrong.

Bull moves to grip his shoulder, then when Dorian doesn't resist, he turns so he can pull him against his chest. "Kadan… it might not come to that, but if it does, you'll know you did everything you could to help him. But you _can't_ hold yourself responsible for his choices… you're doing everything you can…"

Curling fingers around his neck, Bull takes a shuddery breath in. His own body is still recovering, and he's aware he's not entirely here, himself. Some of it is automatic, distant. Because getting closer is not safe, right now. 

"Don't apologise for what other people choose to do, kadan. Only do what you can. You're fighting to save so many more lives, and you're doing it without sacrificing who you are." 

Dorian doesn't know how to respond to this, not really, so he just stays still for a long moment, trying to fight back to himself but not getting as far as he's distantly aware he wants.

"Are… are the others OK..? Stitches and Skinner, and… Krem..! I saw Krem get hurt, back in the tavern… is he all right, is there anything I can do..? I… I have more lyrium, I can heal people if I take it… I can at least help here and now…"

"He's a tough nut, Krem. Stitches got his hands on him. He'll be fine. Skinner was stopping anyone looking at him for too long, and Stitches was checking over the kids and anyone who got too much smoke…" Bull processed it all, without needing to think too much about it. 

Reading situations – and people – is something of his speciality. "You're not taking any more lyrium. Not for a bit. I'll have Stitches check _you_ over, when he's done with the kids. But now…" Bull squeezes him. "There's a town full of people who just saw two Vints – one of them a mage – a Qunari, an elf, and whatever Stitches is… saw them all fight like hell to keep their kids safe. Do you know what that means, kadan? You saw what Alexius did for _his_ son. You just did it for all of theirs. That's the kind of shit people _notice_."

"…You mean they're not sending templars to arrest me? That's good. I really don't want anything more to do with them."

Dorian is distantly aware that this is a good thing, but he can't do much more than acknowledge it right now.

"Then… then what can I do to help? I need to help. I need to show people we're not all like that… please…"

Bull huffs, then pats Dorian to get him to lean back. He ignores how stiff he's feeling, and how his mind is skittering like the beasts in a cave you don't see, and urges the mage to his feet, too. 

"They already know. But if it helps you… come talk to the kids. They just saw a load of magic shit. Tell them you used magic to save them. Get them to see it isn't bad. _Control_ the story for once. They'll listen. Kids don't judge, not like adults do." 

Dorian sways a little when he's on his feet, but he doesn't fall.

"…All right," he concedes. "If you think it will help. Not sure I'll make much sense, though…"

Also, everyone here is taught from an early age that mages are dangerous. To be pitied. To be controlled. To be _kept away from_. And he's confident all he's going to do is confirm their fears.

Bull holds Dorian's elbow, guiding him back towards the concerned adults who mill around the children. Not everyone's parents are close by enough to collect them, and there's still a large number of them. 

"Ma'am," Bull says, to the obvious leader of the group. "Dorian is the mage who put out the fires. I wonder if--"

"That was you!" The teacher launches herself at the mage, unthinkingly, and grabs him in a ridiculously tight hug. "Oh, thank you! Thank you… I thought we would – you got everyone out!"

"…well, there's your answer," Bull snorts.

She lets go, and steps back, wiping her eyes on the heel of her palm. "And… you carried so many out… Sers, you have no idea…"

Bull nods, feeling his chest loosen just a little. "You think… maybe we could talk to a few kids? I reckon they'll still be upset. Thought it might help them to process what went on, and help them know it's over?"

"Of course…"

Behind her, someone murmurs, "…isn't he an apostate?"

"So's my cousin," another hisses. 

"Well, your cousin doesn't have _horns_."

"No, but I didn't see you running into the fire!"

Dorian is _quite_ taken aback by the hug, partly because he wasn't expecting a positive response, but just as much because these Fereldans are so _free_ with their emotions. Randomly hugging strangers is something that's just not _done_ in Tevinter, even if they saved your life.

But… that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. Just… surprising.

"I… hope everyone is all right," he starts out. He can usually talk for hours with barely a pause for breath, but right now he's not at all sure what to say. "I know this must have been a very frightening experience, and… and I'm just glad I managed to put out the fire in time, and that Bull was able to get you all to safety."

A pause. There's so many pairs of eyes on him right now, and he can feel the weight of all those stares.

"I know powerful magic can seem very, very alarming when it happens like that. But… at least I got to show you that it can be used for good, as well as for evil, and I hope… that's something you all remember."

One of the girls sticks up her hand.

"Go on," the teacher encourages her. "It's alright, Lizzie."

"Ser," the little girl starts. "Can I be a mage when I grow up?"

"Don't be stupid," the boy next to her says. "You're born one. You can't _grow up_ one."

"Mama said if I wasn't behaved, then the Witch of the Wilds would come and make me one," another says, entirely rationally, backing Lizzie up.

"So, can I?" Lizzie asks, her little hand still up in the air.

Bull actually wants to laugh. Of all the things… well. It's probably the most positive response he could have gotten. Children don't hold back, in his experience. 

" _I_ want _horns_ ," the grumpy boy protests, folding his arms over his chest. 

"Your friend is right," Dorian answers, doing his best to deal with these confusingly small humans. _Southern_ humans, which makes it even more difficult. "I'm afraid you have to be born with magic to be able to use it. But… would you like to see something really fun?"

His mana is coming back; very slowly, yes, but enough that he can do some basic spellcasting again. So… he gives a twirl of the hand, and the air above the children fills with those delicate, dancing sparks he's so fond of, floating slowly in the late-afternoon air. And… a second little gesture, to make some of the sparks come together, and float above the little boy, forming the shape of glittering horns above his head.

Lizzie seems distracted from her frustrated career designs, bubbling and bouncing and pointing at the horns. "You're a Qwuu-nali!"

Bull leans towards the teacher. "Looks like you got a good bunch, here."

"They… keep me on my toes," she admits. "And with all the news of you-know-what with the Chantry, and the templars… it's a blessing you came through."

"Be better if you didn't blow up half the damn town," one man harrumphs. 

Bull knows this is a fair complaint. "In our defence, that was the other lot. Not good people. We're trying to stop them doing worse… like that crap over by the Temple of Sacred Ashes."

"Why? You're not Andrastian."

"No, but my boyfriend here, is." Bull shrugs. "Bad crap is bad crap. Figure it's worth the effort."

"Still don't like it."

"You don't have to like it, Ivar."

Given that the children seem to enjoy watching the sparks of magic, Dorian keeps them going a little longer, making them dance in midair, or spiral around certain children in particular.

The boy whose mother apparently gets regularly frustrated sticks up his hand next. "Ser, are you a demon? If you aren't, have you seen one? What do they look like?"

Dorian hesitates. The question… the question is complicated. And not something you discuss in detail with small children.

"I'm not a demon, no," he says. "When you're a mage, they teach you how to keep yourself safe from demons. But… I have seen some. It was frightening. There are different kinds, but all of them look completely different from people… any people; Humans, Elves, Dwarves or Qunari."

Which is not strictly true, because Desire Demons look at least _humanoid_ , though his current audience is far too young to hear about Desire Demons, so he can forgive himself the omission.

"They can't get into our world without help, though. The Veil keeps us safe."

And… someone's ripped a hole in it. Fuck. Try not to think about that right now.

"We won't be in town long," he adds, to the adults. "We have to go after the ones who did this. So… you don't have to worry. And they won't be coming back. Their goal… isn't here."

He doesn't mention the part where they may be trying to destroy the world, because that just isn't helpful, and sometimes it's best not to know.

"Adults don't get frightened," Lizzie says, flopping down. "They're never frightened."

Bull decides maybe it isn't fair to leave Dorian to hoards of children. They are, after all, nearly as bad as demons when at their worst. 

"Oh, we do," he says, dropping down to one knee so he's not too tall. "But the fear is normal. Like when you see a big fall from a cliff. It helps you know you need to be careful, but not to stop completely."

Bull looks up to his kadan, and holds his hand out. "Ser Dorian here… he fights the bad things. He can do pretty lights, and he can do powerful ice, and he can move things that are even too heavy for me." He flexes his free arm, to show it's no mean feat. "He's trying to stop those bad people from hurting other children. He's very good at it."

Lizzie still doesn't seem convinced, but the one with more questions than is clearly good for him pipes up: "Mother Gwen said magic is supposed to – to serve people – is that like this? I thought you sat in circles and held hands?"

"It is," Dorian answers, softly. "It's supposed to make things better. Here in Ferelden, you don't see mages so much, but back in Tevinter, where I'm from… there are a lot of us. And we try to use magic to improve things for everyone."

Or… they should. Some of them do. It's certainly what Dorian wants. And… he's going to have a lot of thinking to do when he finally goes home.

"That's why I'm here. To stop bad people, and help good ones."

He glances at Bull as he speaks. It's a silent plea of 'save me', and he hopes for once the other man is feeling merciful.

"Now, those bad people won't be coming back," Bull reassures the kids, and squeezes Dorian's hand. "They know that everyone here looks after each other, and that's what they can't fight. When people join together, they're stronger."

"Like sticks!" says the boy who likes horns, and mimics trying to snap some.

"Exactly! Like sticks. So you guys are all gonna watch out for each other, aren't you? And for your parents. Because when you grow up, you'll be helping them, too."

"I already have to do the dishes," Lizzie complains. "I wish I could magic them clean."

"…afraid that's not really possible. But if you scrub real hard, you might get muscles like mine." Bull poses again, until the little girl blushes and covers her face with her hands. "Alright… so you know it's going to be okay. You might be frightened for a bit, but you just hold hands or ask your Ta-- your mamma for a hug. It's okay to be frightened, but you're all gonna be just fine. Dorian will do a magic spell on you all, now, to protect you from bad dreams."

Not that there is such a thing, but it doesn't hurt to – er – employ the odd illusion. 

Luckily, Dorian is coherent enough to catch onto this, or he probably would have started explaining why magic really _can't_ stop you dreaming, because it's kind of the point. But… no. Sometimes small children need to be told something easy, and helpful, to save them from the darkness in the world a little while longer.

He lifts a hand, making the last of the dancing sparks fade, and instead sends out a wave of gentle warmth. It's actually a simple healing spell, but it _feels_ nice, so he thinks it will work. And, because the children appear to be very visual, he accompanies it with a pulse of coloured light, so that the two seem connected, and real.

"There," he says. "Something to keep the bad dreams away."

"Bless you, Sers," the teacher says, guiding them a few paces back. "You have no idea how much that will help them. Their older siblings… when the Blight happened…" She shudders. "It's not easy on them."

"It's no problem." Bull grins. "Used to… help the people like you, back where I'm from. A long, long time ago."

"You were a teacher?"

Bull snorts. "No. I was like your one with the million questions. But they knew I'd look after the younger ones, and I always made sure they were okay."

"I didn't… I mean… we don't know…"

He nods his head, just a little. "It's alright. Things are different in the Qun, but some things are similar. Just like here, to Orlais, to Tevinter. It's just our shelves are a lot higher, as a rule… but if you'll excuse us, if we're not about to be run out of town, I think there's an inn with our names on it. And if we _are_ about to be run out of town, there's horses who _also_ have our names on them. But in bigger letters."

Dorian lets himself be directed off in the direction of said inn – luckily one they _haven't_ blown through the wall of – without much fuss.

But in the back of his head… he's planning something, and it isn't good, and he knows it isn't good. And still, that won't stop him.

***

Back at the inn, they all take the chance to get cleaned up (which also helps with the looks they're getting from the other patrons, though only to a certain degree) and then plan to avail themselves of the food on offer.

Just as they're about to meet up with the others, Dorian says he needs five minutes, and tells Bull to go on without him. Says he'll be along very shortly.

He can be worryingly convincing when he wants to be.

Bull nods, and – with only minor misgivings – plants a kiss and squeezes his hand. "I'll get you something ordered so you don't have to wait," he says, and offers a weak smile. "Don't be too long. You already look damn fine enough."

He doesn't really want to leave him alone, but he also doesn't want to impose or ignore his wishes, so he goes off to meet the guys for dinner. 

Dorian waits until he's alone… and then promptly slips out the back, where no one will see. What he needs right now is wine.

Lots and lots of wine.


	24. Chapter 24

Bull is not clingy. Not… well, he's never been clingy before, but then he hasn't really had anyone to cling to. 

And this is still new. And they have been spending all their time together. And he has been pushing Dorian to face people who might hate him, and therefore cause him stress to be around. And his mentor _did_ just try to kill him a second time, and no matter what the Ben-Hassrath teach, or any of his years of studying people have taught him… he has no sodding idea what you do with a Dorian Pavus in this situation. 

Also, he's still also not entirely himself, either. And if he didn't have a Dorian Pavus, he knows what he'd be doing right now isn't this. 

Half of him is trying to coast, to ignore the day. Because you can just pretend things didn't happen so you can carry on and get on until it's a moot point anyway. And he's trying to hold himself up, because he's got his Chargers to look after, and now Dorian, so he can't afford to… dwell. 

(And also, on some level, a level he will never, ever admit to… he's hurting. And he's hurting that no one sees past the mask he wears. And if they do, they don't know – or care – or whatever – enough to reach out.) 

But.

Dorian doesn't turn up, and Bull feels the warmth slowly eke out of the room. He sees the half-glances the others give to where he'd be. He knows it's not right. And he knows he's been ignoring it, telling himself it was respectful to give him space. 

Krem looks worried. And Bull doesn't want to move because then he admits he let this happen, and the longer it goes on, the worse it is. And the worse it is, the less he wants to admit to it, and…

Eventually, the warring factions in his head just… snap. It goes from a cacophony too loud to interpret, to one, single voice. 

"Krem…"

"Go find him, Chief."

Bull pushes his chair back, and walks out into the night.

***

The town is decently sized, which means there's plenty of places a boat-hating alcohol-loving, self-hating and self-destructive deviant might want to go. 

Bull gruffs at some people, asking where the kind of establishment he needs will be. 

Rough. No questions asked. No answers given. That kind of place. 

There are nods and mumbles and people afraid of what is clearly an irate Qunari looking for a dive, and wanting to stay out of his warpath. Works for him. He doesn't care, right now, for goodwill and peace and all that shit.

He's looking for an idiot who has annoyed him. And who he's let down.

Bull goes from dive to dive, until he finds the right one. 

***

Dorian is drinking. _Heavily_. He's found the best place to go – 'best' being something of a subjective term, especially now – and promptly settled himself down to drink until he passes out.

In the old days, he would have been looking for company as well, but he doesn't want that. Well, he does, but only from the one man he can't face right now. The man who he _knows_ is going to be livid with him when he comes rolling back. Or… when he finds him.

Possibly he should have thought of that. Dorian has always been the sort to make a scene, because emotions work better in his head when acted out loud, but he's distantly aware this was a monumentally bad idea. The trouble is, it's _usually_ a monumentally bad idea, and that's never stopped him before.

He's aware he's an idiot. He doesn't care. Alexius tried to kill him, and Bull, and the Chargers, and then tried to murder a _school full of children_ , and that's so completely wrong that he doesn't know what to do. Except… this. Because it's what he does when all his other options are gone.

He's talked to people here earlier in the night, but when he got beyond fun-drunk and into sullen-drunk – and when it was clear he wasn't interested in sex, and too smart to fall for anyone hustling cards – the other patrons have started avoiding him. And that makes it even _worse_ , because now he has no one to distract him and pull him out of his head.

So he drinks. And he dwells. And he re-lives the fight, over and over: the look in Alexius' eyes when Dorian had realised the man he once admired above all others was gone, and wasn't coming back.

It hurts. It fucking hurts. And nothing will make it stop hurting.

Bull finds him. And. He's angry. Hurt. Worried.

Worried. And guilty. And furious. And all sorts of things that make it very difficult to function, and to function usefully.

But he promised, when he made his proposal. Earlier, in his own head. Promised that he would look out for him, even knowing the bad things. That's the point, isn't it? You don't give up, just because it's the shittest thing ever. Especially when everyone before has abandoned him when things got rough.

This is Dorian's way of crying for help. And instead of help, he's been kicked further and further away by people who can't speak Him.

So Bull pulls a stool over the stone floor, noisily. Sits down next to Dorian, and folds his arms on the bar in front of him.

"You looking for something?"

_Fuck_.

"…temporary oblivion," Dorian says, though the words are not at all clear, and how in the fuck did the man find him so fast..? He supposes this is what you get for trying to hide from a member of the fucking Ben-Hassrath.

Or maybe he's just not used to anyone coming after him when he hasn't had a chance to do anything more outrageous than drink heavily.

"And did you find it?" Bull continues, tracing lines in the sloshes of stale ale. His good eye is facing Dorian, his blind side out to the world. 

It's a risk. It's a risk he considers worth taking. 

"…not as yet, no," Dorian slurs. "Very high tolerance for drink. Takes a long time to… to push past… thing."

A pause, whilst he tries to form the next words he wants to say. Or… that his mind has decided it's going to say, at least.

"…guess you're mad. Don't blame you. Nearly got you and your guys killed."

"Yes, but not for that reason." Bull pushes his knee to Dorian's. "We regularly nearly get killed. Lost my damn eye the first time I met Krem. Not only is it the kind of life we live, it's the kind of life we all _chose_. And chose to take the fights worth dying for."

Bull lets his drunken mind think about that, for a minute. 

"Would you like to consider why we might actually be upset, and not why you want us to be upset?"

Dorian sighs. "…I fucked off. 'S what I do. Easier. Don't have to face the stares. And… gives people an excuse to go."

He still hasn't lifted his head. There's tears in his eyes, but he knows he has no right to them, so he doesn't want them to show.

"They're worried about you. _I'm_ worried about you. And I'm worried that… I didn't make you feel safe enough to not run off." Bull gently places his hand on Dorian's far shoulder. "But you didn't run far, did you? If you'd wanted me not to follow, would you have come here?"

Dorian knows full-well he wanted to be followed. He _always_ wants to be followed. It's just rare that people ever do, at least until he starts causing enough of a fuss that they have no choice. If he _didn't_ want to be followed, it would be easy to disappear.

But disappearing is the last thing on his mind right now.

"…didn't want you to see me like this…" he manages. "You… always talk about me like I'm wonderful. Like I'm the person I want to fool everyone into seeing. And… I'm not. I'm this. So… figured I'd spare you…"

" _Kadan_. You aren't who you fool everyone into thinking you are, and I _never_ thought you were. You're… you. And yeah, you can be a dick at times, but that's part of your charm. You're _you_. Not some picture-perfect heir to all the Imperium."

Bull squeezes harder, pulling him inexorably in. "You're Dorian Pavus, kadan to the Iron Bull, one of the Chargers. You're so full of love you even wanted to save the guy who tried to kill you, when you had every reason to just want to burn his ass to a crisp. You turned your back on revenge to save people who you thought would hate you anyway, because it was the right thing to do. And you're blaming yourself for what some asshole did, who you tried everything in your power to stop, even though the easiest thing in the world would be to go along with the flow." He drops his chin onto Dorian's head. 

"And you did want me to see you like this, because this is who you are. It's just a part of who you are, but you think I can't love this bit. And you're never going to trust me with all of you until you've seen it for yourself. So. Have you had enough to drink, yet? Or do you need to be more miserable before you'll let me take you back? Not that I'll let you carry on much longer: you'll be over my shoulder if you keep it up too long. At least you'll get a good view of my ass."

Dorian blinks up at him. "…Why aren't you mad?" he slurs. "Or… or is it that scary-mad where you can't tell at first..?"

He stares at his tankard. He started the night on wine, because even when self-destructive he has _some_ class, but eventually came to the decision that Fereldan wine is _shit_ because how do you even grow grapes in a place that's this fucking cold? So he moved onto the ale. Which is also horrible. But… in a way he weirdly likes.

"…can drink as long as I like, if I want," he adds, intelligently. "So… 's up to you…"

Bull sighs very slightly. "No. It's up to you. Too many people have dragged you away to try to force you to be what they want you to be. I'll only carry you out if I think you're in danger of choking on your own sick. I asked you if you're ready to go home or not… and when you are, I'll take you."

He runs his thumb over Dorian's neck, the gesture measured and caring. "I'm not mad. Or maybe I am. Mad, and hurt, and worried, and blaming myself just as much. This is as much my fault as it is yours, or anyone else's. But I swore I was yours, and that I'd love and protect you, no matter what. Being mad wouldn't stop that. I shouldn't have let you be alone this long… I should have realised sooner. I just didn't want to admit how much I'd fucked up."

"You fucked up?" Dorian repeats, staring at him like he's angry, but not with the man in front of him. "How did you fuck up? You did everything right. You pretty much always do. I'm just…"

He drops his head. He doesn't want to say the word 'impossible', but it's there in his tone, and in his demeanour.

"…jus' take me back…" he murmurs. "Drink isn't even working anymore."

"I didn't come right away," Bull replies. "I knew… this was happening, and I didn't want to admit I'd… let it, and then… if I acted, it showed I'd fucked up, and the longer I left it to come looking for you, the worse I knew I'd left it. But I was hurt. And angry. And upset. And I wasn't… ready to be here for you, not… right away. And I'm sorry. I should have come sooner."

Bull finds his hand, and squeezes. "Can you stand, or do you need me to carry you?" He swallows. Hard. "If I did everything right, you wouldn't have felt the need to be here right now, would you? So. You can drop that right away. This is _not_ all on you, and it never has been."

Dorian blinks at him. "Then… then I'm sorry… sorry I ever… sorry I made you…"

He drops his head into his hands for a long moment. Everything hurts – but not _enough_ – and he's ragingly drunk – but not _enough_ – and Bull won't even yell at him, which is stupid, because _he_ wants to yell at him, for trying to break the one good thing he actually has, but he can't yell at himself because that's ridiculous.

So he drinks.

"…can probably stand," he insists, though it's not at all likely to be true. "…see…"

And he attempts it, standing in what he hopes is at least a vaguely convincing manner, and then promptly catching himself on the table before he falls on it.

"No." Bull's hands grab his waist, a moment before it's too late, and then slowly stands up, slinging one of Dorian's arms over his shoulder, but more for the look of it than anything else. He's got hold of his waist, and hoisted his feet off the ground. It's for the dignity (what remains of it) more than anything else. 

" _I_ am sorry. I let you get hurt, and stay hurt, and it… was unfair of me to be annoyed and let it happen. So. Why don't we go back to bed, and if you need to keep saying sorry, you can. But you'll have to listen to my sorries, too, and maybe it would just be better if we didn't both keep saying it?"

Because this fucking hurts, and Bull doesn't like it hurting, and he wants so damn badly for the pain to go. "Come _home_. You don't need to run. And if you do, I'll follow you. Each. And. Every. Time." 

Bull hoists harder, and drags him out of the inn and into the crisp – not quite frosty – night air. He knows it will kick his system, and he slows down just to one side of the building to let him accommodate. "It's okay to be angry with me, you know. Or with him. You don't have to turn it in on yourself. You have every right to be hurt, by all of us."

Dorian doesn't fight being carried, not one bit, because he's aware he can't really walk and he doesn't want to stay here anymore. Some part of him wants to keep drinking, yes, because that's how his mind responds to feeling like this, but at the same time he knows he shouldn't.

And Bull is warm. And being nice to him. And Dorian deserves neither, but wants both.

And _fuck_ , it's cold outside. How do the people in this country stand it?

"…not angry with you," he insists. "Angry with me. And him. And the world. Was trying to _spare_ you…"

"You were trying to spare me from your delightful company?" Bull snorts. "Kadan. I want to hear your anger. I want to hear you shout, when you're mad. I want to hear you demand what you're owed. I…" 

Dorian is suffering, so he holds him a little tighter in, and starts walking. "Shout. Tell me. Tell me how horrible he was. Tell me how he hurt you, and how you are angry he didn't see, or didn't care… tell me you deserve better, because you _do_. And it is not because _you_ aren't 'enough' that he was a total fucking shithead. No one worth following hurts _kids_. He doesn't care about _anyone_ , and you were not going to magically change that, not all at once. It. Isn't. **You**. _I_ want you. Need you. Choose you. Don't let them take you from me, even for a minute. Even angry, drunk, hurt Dorian. Let me fucking love your idiotic, but pretty, ass."

"…he saved me, you know," Dorian murmurs, shakily. "When I was as low as I ever got. He saved me. He… made me the man I am today. And… and I couldn't save him in return…"

He aches all over, and he just wants it to stop. Maybe he should have just kept fucking drinking. Except… that wasn't helping either, and he _knows_ drinking after a fight always leaves him sore.

But common sense is not exactly Dorian's modus operandi.

"…I am hurt. Hurt he wouldn't listen. Hurt our years of friendship meant nothing. Hurt he… couldn't just _talk_ to me about this, let me help him, at least let me remind him why we don't shack up with… with people like he's fallen in with…"

He doesn't quite dare say it out loud again, in case they're overheard. The streets may be pretty quiet, but somehow the words 'Darkspawn magister' have a tendency to carry.

"Were you easy, to begin with? For him?" It unwinds, bit by bit. Bull does want to set fire to the man's ass, but he must have had some good in him, at some point, or it wouldn't hurt Dorian so much. "Did you fight him back? Did you act stupid?"

"'f course I did," Dorian replies. "He ran into me in a fucking _brothel_. Some of my comments were _very_ inappropriate, and I was _so_ drunk, and I didn't exactly have reason to care about the feelings of some random magister. _Especially_ one who went wandering into a _brothel_ in full regalia, like he didn't _care_ who saw him, and I still don't know what was going on there because Gereon fucking _adored_ his wife. And… and he said I was being very disagreeable and _I_ said I disagreed, and then to prove the point I filled the room with coloured stars."

"And he… he looked at me like he was fucking _fascinated_. Do you even know how hard it is to spellcast anything intricate when you're wasted? It's a nightmare. Sure, any fool can fling drunken fireballs or ice spikes, but something _pretty_ , and careful..? And… and maybe I _wanted_ someone to see that, and maybe that's why I did it, but I _did_ do it, and… and instead of calling the templars to have me hauled back to my parents, he took me home to his estate instead. Had his people take care of me. No one… no one ever did that before, and he had _no_ obligation to do it, and…"

"…and I only realised the next morning that he'd offered me a position as his apprentice on the journey back. I just sort of lay there and tried to work out if I'd lost my mind, or accidentally made a deal with a demon. But I hadn't. He just… he wanted me. As his apprentice. Which is a _huge_ responsibility, and a lot of work. But… he did."

"And you don't think it was hard for him, with you? You don't think you made it nearly impossible at times?" Bull keeps his pace as brisk as he can, and keeps pulling his mind through, to take him away from how ill he must soon be feeling. 

"You first fell out with him when you tried to help _him_ , didn't you? Can't you see that if he's been the one in control, the one with all the power, the knowledge… for him to realise that he doesn't have all the answers, and to consider listening to you? It's… a lot on an ego. It's a lot to accept. You may be ready to accept blame, but he isn't. And you're trying to take that on, because he won't."

_Vashedan_ but he wants to smack their skulls together, right now. "You've grown up responsible. Okay, not perfectly, but you have. And now – now he has to admit he changed you from an angry, drunk young man into someone who can counsel _him_. And if he's worth the effort you seem to think he is – like you were – you'll just have to keep fighting. But I don't… I don't want it to destroy you, if it's his arrogance that holds him back, kadan. If we could fix the world, there'd be no Qun, no Imperium, no Darkspawn… we'd all just be having a lot of sex with whoever we wanted to, and eating cake for breakfast." 

Speaking of.

"You didn't eat, did you? Kadan, I love you, but you're occasionally a very educated moron."

"I am _often_ a very educated moron," Dorian slurs back, sullenly. "And I wasn't hungry. Plus it takes the drink longer to work if you eat first."

It's alarming how logical all this illogical nonsense is in his head, especially right now.

"Yes. Yes. We fell out when I tried to make him see that we couldn't save Felix. That we couldn't somehow find a cure for the Blight, despite all our efforts. I wanted him to come to terms with that. To spend Felix's last months with _him_ , not locked away in the library or the laboratory working on another dead end, because otherwise he'd only have emerged when Felix was gone, and that would have _killed_ him."

"You wanted him to admit he wasn't good enough. And that he was wrong. And that he'd lose his son." No wonder Qunari don't do children. "You… asked him to choose you, over Felix, in his head. Even though you were putting him first. You do know you did the right thing, don't you?"

Stupid fucking morons. Bull pulls him into the inn they're staying in, carting him to the bed and plonking him down. He drops to one knee to start removing his boots. "I'm going to get you some bread or something. Not to eat loads, but to get something solid in you. And you're going to realise that the pain you feel over losing Alexius? He's feeling for you. _And_ his wife. _And_ his son. He wouldn't have tried to drag your ass back, or talk you over to him, if he didn't still want you around. Even if it's fucked up and stupid right now. His entire world is ripped from under him, and maybe what he did today will be enough to shake him. That kid of his… he won't be happy what he's seen his father do. Maybe… maybe it will be enough."

"I never asked him to choose me over Felix," Dorian insists, just lying where Bull has put him. "Never. He was like a younger brother to me, and Gereon knew that. I wasn't trying to get him to pay me more attention. I was trying to get him to pay _Felix_ more attention, whilst he still could. I… was trying to help."

He puts an arm over his eyes, not to be melodramatic but because the world hurts too much to look at right now. "He might want me around, sure, but at the cost of my soul. And even he doesn't get to ask for that. I'm not selling out the world to a fucking Darkspawn just because it's hard to live in. It's fucking hard to live in. But there's far worse options."

"I didn't say you _did_. I said he thought you did. And that's different." Bull wraps a hand around Dorian's ankle, just for a moment. "Feelings don't always make sense. And I also am not saying you should join him. Anything but… what I am saying is, he still does care for you, or respect you, in some way. And if there's any hope of him coming back from where he is… it's you and his kid. He might not be all gone."

Bull stands up, and quickly pulls Dorian out of the most spiky parts of his clothes, then pulls the blanket up and over him. Grabs some water, and puts it beside the bed. 

"I'm going to get something inoffensive for you to eat, when you can. Maybe some cold meats, too. Are you going to immediately run if I nip to the larder?" 

"…no," Dorian answers, and means it. "I'm tired of running. Also I don't think I can stand."

_I'm sorry_ , he wants to say. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_. I'm sorry I'm like this. I'm sorry you're mixed up in it. I'm sorry your people got hurt. I'm sorry I ran.

But he can't, because the words are choking him up inside, and because he's so drunk the room is spinning, and he'd very much like to be unconscious now. "I won't go. I promise."

Bull pushes his hair back, holds it, and kisses his brow. "If you need to run, remember you can run faster with me carrying you, alright? And if you can sleep this off, we'll be ready to fight this better, tomorrow. We're not giving up. Not now, not ever."

He straightens. "If you need some water, get it. If you fall asleep, that's okay. If you wake in the night, eat, drink, piss… but _wake me_ if you can't fall back asleep. Promise me that. Or I promise you I won't sleep." 

Dorian does his best to meet the other man's eye, and nods. "I promise. And I apologise in advance if I then start rambling at you."

He's done worse. Usually he just sleeps and finally comes to with a thumping headache, but there's a lot going on in his mind right now, so it's hard to predict.

"Kadan, the point is _to_ ramble at me." Bull snorts, and looks up to the rafters. "You have someone, now. Someone to listen. Someone to scream to. Someone to chase after you. And hopefully, sometime soon, that will start to sink in."

Bull looks down, tenderly frustrated. "I'll be as quick as I can." His foot clangs on something enamel-sounding. "It's there if you can't make it to the crapper." 

"'m sorry…" Dorian murmurs, hazily. "D-don't be gone long…"

He knows he has zero right to ask this, but he can't not.

"I won't. No longer than I need to." Bull steals another kiss, and ducks out before he can't stop himself again. He needs to get things to help, or Dorian will feel even more like shit in the morning. He needs salt, and calories, and fluids that he'll actually want to take in, but aren't alcoholic. And as fast as he possibly can. 

***

Dorian sleeps. And he sleeps. He drifts off no more than a moment after Bull has left the room, and barely does more than stir when the man comes back, and curls in behind him.

He's distantly aware that the warmth is nice, though. And not just because it's better than being cold.

He's completely out of it for several hours, not even moving… until all of a sudden he's shaking rather violently, and crying out words that aren't coherent, but sound terribly distressed and afraid.

Bull is awake in half a breath, and his automatic response is to grip the man currently shaking in his arms. Grip, and tug in, and… "Kadan? Kadan… hey! Hey… it's alright… Kadan, I've got you…" 

There's a few more seconds where Dorian is just thrashing and screaming, and then he jumps as the world gets back through to him, and pulls him out of the nightmare.

"…I… what..? F-fuck… fuck, I'm sorry… I was…"

…in the Fade. Which tonight was his own, personal realm of torment.

"…dreaming. Not good. I… sorry."

"I guessed as much." Bull loosens from death-grip into tight hold. "It's okay. You're back here, now. Do you want to talk for a bit, until you feel better? Need a piss, or a drink? I got some milk earlier. Figured it might help your stomach settle." 

"…drink, would be good," Dorian manages, because he is rather thirsty now. "Beyond that, I really don't want to move."

He lets himself be handed the cup in question, downing as much as he can manage and then just dropping back against the pillows, trying to breathe for a moment.

"…sorry," he says, again. "My dreams are often vivid, but if they get out of control…" He trails off, trying to push the images from his mind. "…It was a nightmare. Nothing real."

A slow, slow deep breath. He ought to just go back to sleep, but his mind is awake now, and enough of the alcohol has faded that he can think again. He's far from recovered, though.

"…thank you," he adds, softly. "For… coming to get me."

Bull props up on one arm, stroking over his hair, trying to soothe him and not aggravate any parts that might feel less than good. Dorian did drink a lot, on high emotion, and no food. And lyrium. He needs to make sure he's okay.

"I'll always come to get you, kadan. You don't need to thank me. It's what I'm here for." The fondest, most doting smile that others never truly get to see, as he traces patterns over Dorian's temple. 

"Would it help to talk about the nightmare? To banish it in the candlelight, or prove it isn't real? I'm not afraid of what you see in the Fade, only that I'm no use to you, there."

Dorian closes his eyes for a moment, not to sleep but because the memories hurt.

"…I dreamt it was the end of the world," he says, quietly. "Everything was on fire, and the sky was a cavernous void. I saw people dying. A lot of people." A pause. "…You. And… and then I saw Alexius, and he said he finally had everything he wanted, and all that was left was to kill me. He… he said he'd do it slowly, so I felt everything Felix had felt… and then… there was a _creature_ … a Darkspawn, I think… and I felt it lash out at me, and… and then I woke up here."

Bull tries not to let how that makes him feel show in his voice, as he moves in behind him closer, curling his arms and legs around him. "Well. For one thing, I am very much not dead. And for another, he really _would_ need to go through me to get to you. I have absolutely no intentions of letting him kill me, and I am very stubborn."

"I know," Dorian answers, still so very softly. "It was a nightmare. They don't have to make sense, even if the things that fuel them are real."

He lies without moving, save for the slowing rhythm of his breath. "Why aren't you mad?" he asks, because the question is burning him up inside. "Why… why did you just carry me back here and crawl into bed with me?"

"Why should I be mad?" Bull counters. "You were upset, and hurt, and you needed me to come get you. Hold you. Keep you warm. Didn't you?"

"…well, yes, but… I… ran off. I left you all and ran off. I… shouldn't have done that to you. You deserve better. I just… I think…"

Pause. Breathe. Try not to break down.

"…I just needed you to hate me as much as I hated myself. Which is fucking stupid, I know, but… I can be. Fucking stupid. When I'm upset."

Hooking a chin over his shoulder, Bull lets his lone eye shut. "And you think I didn't know all that? Or how you'd react if things went badly today? Why would I punish you for being hurt… it wouldn't get either of us anywhere. I _can't_ hate you, and I _won't_ hate you, and neither should you."

Bull presses his nose below Dorian's ear. "I recognise you won't change on that, any time soon. But maybe someday you will. You _ran_. You didn't attack us, or betray us. You ran. And I followed. Simple."

"I'd _never_ betray you," Dorian gasps, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. "Never. I'm not him. I might do stupid, stupid things, but never anything to cause outright harm. I… _couldn't_."

He's shaking a little now, the mere thought like poison in his blood.

"Exactly," Bull says, and rocks him in his arms. "I knew you wouldn't. You didn't. So why would I be angry? I'm… upset that you felt you needed to, but I'm not _angry_. You needed to be chased. I chased. I'm not saying I want you to do it all the damn time… but I'm not _mad_ at you for being upset, kadan."

Damn, but they really did a number on him, didn't they? It turns Bull's stomach. 

"I trust you. And I love you. And I'm not them, and neither are you. We're _us_. Whatever happened before… it doesn't get to dictate who we are, now. Not unless we let it."

Something about that hits Dorian hard, but in a very different way, and he rolls over in the other man's arms so they're face to face; at least for a moment, before he buries his head against Bull's chest.

"I don't deserve you," he gasps. "Truly, I don't. But I'm not letting you go, either."

"You very much do," Bull answers him, just as upset. And all too ready to pull him in tight. "Half the damn problem is you think you deserve all that shit they put you through. They hurt you so damn long you thought you _should_ go through it. But you _didn't_ need to. And you don't. And I'm not going to punish you, even if you do dumb shit to provoke it. If you _need_ that, we do it safely. We don't do it in anger, and we don't do it when you're feeling this shit."

Bull fusses into his hair, tangling their legs together. "Even if I did get mad at you, I wouldn't want to hurt you. I'd want to get us both through it, together. Because I probably fucked something up, too, for you to make me feel mad at you in the first place." 

"You fucked _nothing_ up," Dorian insists. "You went haring off on this insane trip to confront a man you've never met, who could just as easily have turned out to be a deranged lunatic as a genuine threat. You put yourself and your people – whom you fucking _adore_ – in very real danger, and then you carried a load of kids out of a burning building. The one thing you _didn't_ do is fuck up."

"Kadan… I was talking hypotheticals, but thank you. And I already told you: I did fuck up. I didn't understand this thing with your old mentor enough, and I… there was far too long when I was feeling sorry for myself before I came looking for you, and _that_ I am angry with myself for. You shouldn't have been left alone with your pain for a minute longer than it took me to find you at my very, very best." Which Bull is going to have to handle, with himself.

"And if you haven't noticed: _you are my people_. **Just** as much as them. So stop thinking that you're putting them in anything. They _chose_ to follow us on this. No one forced them. They believe in _you_. 

He sighs, very, very heavily. "I love Krem, and I would never want to choose between you. But if you think I adore him, imagine how I feel about you, you ridiculous pillock. The _only_ thing I'm mad with you about is the fact you let these _dickholes_ stomp all over you so bad that when you see someone's arm move, you don't think they're coming in to hug you. You think they're coming to _hit_ you. I can't – I can't make before go away, but I can damn well make sure you never see that again. We do _not_ regret taking you in. And I will fight every last Vint in the Imperium for your heart and happiness, if that's what it takes. Every. Last. One. Do you understand?" He's trying so very, very hard to not let the anguish get into his tone, but it's difficult. He's disgusted, and livid, and terrified. But none of it is directed at Dorian. 

The words hurt. Not in a weapons-designed-to-cause-pain way, but in a deep, deep _realisation_ way. Dorian likes to think he's very smart (and this is because, at heart, he is) but he knows he's somewhat… stilted… when it comes to the emotional side of things. Mostly because his well-worn response is to run off and get ragingly drunk, and that usually puts an end to the rest of the emotional stuff, aside from all the resultant yelling.

So… _still_ being worth all this effort is weird. Previously, the only person who's ever done that for him was Gereon, and whilst that was both lovely and undeserved – and, Dorian is sure, genuine at least at the time – this is different. Bull had every reason to hate him, and chose to love him instead. And he had every reason to write this whole trip off as a fool's errand, but chose to come along instead.

And he had every justification to get mad with Dorian for running out on him. But… he hasn't.

"I know you will," he manages, very softly, not able to look up. "I'm just…" A pause, and a breath. "…I know."

Bull takes hold of Dorian's chin, guiding his head up very, very softly. Leans in, and runs his lips across his lover's, the gentlest kiss he can manage. And then strokes one finger along the chains that hang from his neck, even now. Taps at the small key, and the large tooth. A gift, each way. 

"I know," he echoes. "It's why I'm here. It's why you won't shake me off. I'd prefer you don't try _too_ hard. I've only got so many fingers left, and just the one eye, but I'll still give it all I have." It's a weak attempt at a joke, which he follows with a kiss to the side of his lips. "I know you, Dorian. Maybe I'm the first person you let know you. And I fucking love the shit out of you. And _so_ do my guys. Just… not like that." 

He pushes their foreheads together, again. "No amount of being a prick will change it. So. Tell me: what do you want to do, now? What do you want to do next?"

He leaves the question open for a reason. 

"…I assume you don't mean _now_ , now?" Dorian says. "Because right now, this conversation is about as much as I'm capable of… and I can't promise not to pass out again soon. But…"

A pause, whilst he tries to get his thoughts in order; fighting against the turbulent mess that is his current mindset.

"…if you mean what _we_ do next, about… about all this… I think we have to keep going. We might be able to catch Alexius on the road, if…"

He trails off, because talking about the man hits him hard, and it's a moment before he's got his emotions under enough control to continue.

"…if we go quickly. Even if his group rides all tonight, they're only a day ahead of us, and they'll have to stop soon. So there's every possibility we could intercept them. I… I don't know where they're going, but I can't help but feel it's that village in the Frostbacks, where this hole in the sky is… or somewhere close by, at least…"

Bull smiles. Good. Good. "And what can we do to be more prepared, do you think? Would it help if we tried a little kidnapping, rather than brute force? Split the two off? I know you're not going to like this suggestion, but without a templar… we can use _qamek_. Just enough to keep him controlled and away from the worst of the shit."

He does not raise the topic lightly. It isn't a pleasant thing at the best of times, and especially not after what Dorian experienced. 

"…I'm not giving him that stuff," Dorian replies, suddenly emotional. "I won't. Maybe that means I'm giving up an advantage, but… I'm not him. I don't send templars to do my dirty work, and I don't… I can't. I can't… do that. To another mage. I only let you do it to the other templar because I was so _angry_ , and…"

Pause. Breathe. Keep trying to think in vaguely coherent lines. "Splitting them up would work. Plus I want Felix _away_ from his father before the man gets them both killed. And Alexius will be less bold if he loses all his allies."

"Alright." It's a major tactical drop, but Bull understands principles. "I didn't want to… offend you. But I wanted to see if it was… preferable to some alternatives." 

There's a long, long pause. "…I am… sorry, you know. But even that first night, if I hadn't… I'm sure he would have turned sooner. The minute I – I regretted it. And that fucking templar had it coming. They pulled that kind of shit on mages for years, kadan. Maybe not all of them, but those ones…" His lips curl in a growl. 

"Kadan… I really did… hate doing it. If I could take it back… if I could take any of it back…" 

"I don't blame you," Dorian insists, holding onto him tighter. "I don't. You protected me. And if… if _he_ hadn't thought I was subdued… he would have found other ways to do it. Worse ways. So… so don't think for one second that I hold it against you. I don't. But… I won't go down that line."

He shivers. In many ways, having nightmares about Alexius makes a welcome change, because they're usually about the damn templar.

"I would only have used it until… until he wasn't a danger. I hope you realise that I meant it as simply… an alternative to… well." Death. Bull had given Dorian some choice, even back then, he remembers. A small mercy, if nothing else. "But I respect your decision. I don't regret it keeping you alive… and maybe kicking me out of the ridiculous mess in my head."

"I knew you were trying to protect me," Dorian says, very softly. "Even the first night. Even when I had no idea why you would bother. So don't… please don't blame yourself for doing what was necessary."

Bull wraps both arms snugly around him. "You are better than them. A million times the man either Alexius, or your father, ever could be. I want you to remember that, when you feel low. I want you to remember how damn proud I am of you."

Dorian closes his eyes. He _wants_ to be better. Partly because he has a deep-seated need to excel, but also because he needs to stop the cycle here. To change things for the better, rather than prolonging the worse option.

"…Until very recently, you wouldn't have been," he adds; not self-critical but… honest. "I'm a better man, because of you. Because you made me realise I could be."

"No." Bull fiercely shakes his head. "You might have had shit for a plan, but you were already trying to make a difference. Fuck's sake, you stood up to the one guy you respected, knowing he'd be mad at you, to _help_ him. You were already on the road. I just… gave you a step up to see better." 

His chest heaves under a sigh, lifting them both up a bit too far. "Is there anything I can do to… keep the nightmares at bay?"

"Just hold me," Dorian answers. "Knowing you're there… knowing you still want to be there… it helps. And… whilst you can't ever completely prevent the nightmares coming, I feel stronger in the face of them now."

"I meant what I said… about waking me. If I don't wake, and you don't feel good… don't worry about waking me up. I would much, much rather be awake with you, than asleep without you." Bull lets his hand roam, mindless caresses, following the arch of Dorian's spine. 

"I always want to be there. Always. And if I have to tell you every day, that's no hardship. But I gotta tell you: after the skinful you had, if you don't get some better sleep, you're gonna be a nug's wrinkly ball sack tomorrow." 

"…I apologise in advance for that," Dorian murmurs. "I know I'm not… the most fun… when I'm hungover. You'd think I would have learned to tolerate it better by now…"

He's clearly drifting again, but curled in close, drawing comfort from the contact.

"Nah. If you tolerated it better, you'd drink even _more_. And if you drank this much every night, how would I screw your brains out?" He nips playfully at an ear tip. "C'mon. Your ass is gonna be sore from all the catch-up riding tomorrow. Might as well do it from the best start you can."

Dorian wraps around him as much as possible (which is challenging when you're a lot smaller, but he still makes the effort). "You're so sensible," he murmurs, barely coherently. "'s weird. And cute. And… I love you… so… there…"

And he drifts off, his mind falling deep, and – mercifully – no more shadows come to stalk it.

Sensible. Not a term anyone really would have used of the Iron Bull… but maybe he is getting that way in his old age. "Love you, too." Cute. Ugh. It's a good job Dorian is unconscious. Bull doesn't think he'd be able to cope otherwise.

Cute!

Ugh.

Well. Fine. For Dorian, he can be.


	25. Chapter 25

When Dorian wakes the next morning… things hurt. Most of these things are his head, and also the rest of him. He doesn't grumble too much though, because he's aware it's self-inflicted, and whilst it's _always_ self-inflicted, he knows it's worse in this case.

And he feels… bad. He's not accustomed to feeling bad, not like this. Usually, the people he does this to deserve it, even in the cold light of day… but he's well aware that Bull and the Chargers really _didn't_ deserve it.

So he's uncharacteristically quiet when they meet up, in the cool morning air; heading to the stables to get their horses ready for the day's ride ahead.

"Good morning, sunshine," Krem calls out, from where he's readying Dorian's horse. His own is already tackled for the day.

Bull can see the slight playfulness in Krem's approach, and gives a little nod from behind his mate.

"I got a bone to pick with you…" Though Krem doesn't give Dorian too long to dwell on it. "You want to go find the shittiest, skankiest, least reputable part of town, and you didn't think to invite _us_? Don't you know it's not a real dive until there's two Vints bringing the tone down?"

Bull shakes his head, now, but ruefully. Maybe he shouldn't let Krem start on de-escalating. Or maybe he really, really should. 

"…I'll have you know I was very restrained," Dorian replies, sounding a little shaken. Certainly not his usual self. "And I… thought I should spare you my company."

He pauses. "I'm not accustomed to apologising. But… I'm sorry."

Krem pulls the horse over, handing the reins to Dorian, to follow through with a shoulder-bump. "Don't apologise. Buy me a beer next time. Or let me buy you one, okay? It's more fun than drinking alone. Only the Chief bites… well. Skinner might, but you're not her type."

Bull rolls his eye, almost loudly enough to be heard. "Don't spare this lot anything. _We_ all had to put up with Krem's first heartbreak. So no one gets to complain, now."

"Chief!"

Bull puts on a half-passable imitation. " _But Chief, the things she could do with her--_ "

"That was not heartbreak. Shut up." Krem is on the verge of laughing, though, and he claps his hand on Dorian's far shoulder. "Mean it, Buckles. If you're wanting to be miserable, you might as well have an audience, right? Just until you decide to take pity on the old man's todger. That's when you're on your own."

"Hey!" Bull growls. "Leave my todger out of this."

"Bet that's not what Buckles said…" He pulls him in to 'whisper', faux-conspiratorially. "It's okay. We know how loud he snores. _And_ what he says in his sleep. You're perfectly safe, he's basically a stuffed nug with a big stick for brains." Krem lets go, and avoids a stone kicked at him in the process. 

" _Actually_ he's a very sensitive lover," Dorian replies, deciding to give as good as he gets, if this is how it's going to be. Or he's trying, at least. He knows he's still off his game really. "Very talented. And I rarely notice the snoring on account of how I've passed out by that point. From all the vigorous sex."

Deep down, he's relieved not to get yelled at. Quite how he's managed to fall in with a bunch of _decent_ people, he's still not entirely sure.

"And… if you want to be my audience next time, then I'll take you up on that. But just remember… you asked for it. I'm not always this dashing and entertaining…"

"Well, if what he's said before is anything to go by, wouldn't really need to do much other than point in the right direction," Stitches complains. "Maybe you're getting talent confused with brute force. Not that I know if there's such a thing as talent when there's two guys."

"There is. And it's not a competition we need to have, thank you, even if I'd win," Bull says, even as his chest puffs proudly. "We are _very_ happy. Regularly. Multiple times most nights, in quick succession. Sometimes with pretty sparkly shit."

And if they're going to be atrocious, then Bull will go all out: "You're just all jealous because you've never had a mage, or if you did, it wasn't anyone like _my_ mage. Who can basically--"

Krem clears his throat, and turns back to Dorian. "We might like not-dashing Buckles. But don't think you'd ever fail to be entertaining. We've all heard the Chief's stories to _death_. So. You'll buy the first round, and from then on we're all even, right?"

"…Deal," Dorian agrees. "Though if it's on this trip, I can't promise I'll find anything worth drinking. They have something they call 'wine', but it's not even fit to put on a salad. Which you also shouldn't bother with."

He's back to talking to fill space, but it's clear from his expression that he's touched, and that he appreciates the concern. Even if he can't quite say it.

"And… are you all right, after yesterday?" he adds, remembering how bloodied Krem looked in the aftermath of the fight. "I was worried."

"Hmm? Oh. Yeah." Krem turns his head to show the faint traces of minor cuts. "Nothing serious. Just looks like a lot when you cut near the face. Know some guys who do it on purpose before a fight, just to intimidate the enemy. Looks much worse than it is, but stings like a bitch if you sweat."

"Well, if you _would_ try not to play with a whole fucking _bar_ , Krem…" Bull clucks at him, fussingly. "The point of the shield is to be _under_ or _behind_ it."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Ready for round two. Assume you got a plan for that?"

Bull jumps up onto his horse. "Ride, divide, conquer, conquest. In that order." 

Dorian mounts far more slowly. _Far_ more slowly. Everything is still swaying a little too much for his liking.

"…It's better than my plan. Which involved more of the hideous not-wine than even I would like. So… we'll go with that."

It's the best option they have right now. And it's going to lead them further south; deep into Ferelden.

And _winter_.

***

Precisely where they go next has been a matter of some debate, but – thanks to some digging by Skinner and Stitches whilst Dorian was off having his… episode – they've discovered that there's reportedly a large gathering of former Circle mages in the town of Redcliffe. And, whilst they can't know for sure, Dorian's immediate suspicion is that this is where Alexius will go next.

A large gathering of mages is serious news, after all. What their intentions are, no one knows, but given that the Mage Rebellion is very much in full-swing here, it's making everyone nervous. And if there's now a hole in the sky… sooner or later, someone is going to want to involve said group of mages. Either to fix it, or… not.

Dorian can't help the growing fear that _'not'_ is Alexius' plan. He has to be travelling further south for a reason, after all, and he won't simply be going to _look_ at this so-called 'breach'. Oh no.

It's soon decided that they'll make for Redcliffe, because even if Alexius _isn't_ going there, it's on the edge of the Frostbacks, and therefore in the same general direction as Haven. Plus, if this is about to get out of hand, having a few more mages on their side might be helpful.

So they set out towards the North Road, aiming to travel across the southern coastlands until they hit Lake Calenhad. It's going to be several more days of riding, though this might be a moot point if they manage to catch up with Alexius and his group before that.

They ride hard all day – even Dorian foregoing his usual complaints at having to do so whilst seriously hungover – and by the time they finally stop, it's already getting dark. The village they end up in is small – barely more than a handful of farmsteads connected by some shared local conveniences and a tiny Chantry – but it has an inn with rooms for the night.

And whilst Bull arranges the accommodations, Dorian decides to ask one of the locals if they've seen any itinerant magisters in the last day or so. He knows there's no guarantee Alexius came this way, but he can't help thinking the man will be desperate to avoid Lothering, given that it was razed to the ground by Darkspawn during the Blight, and so will take this road as well.

But the answer he comes back with is not what he expected, and it's clear on his face as he rejoins the others.

"…so… we may have a small problem."

This is an understatement. And they don't know the half of it yet.

"First, define 'small', and then define 'problem'?" Bull asks, trying not to look as pissed off as he feels right now (which is, it has to be said, not 'small', although it is 'problem'). 

Dorian seems oddly hesitant. This is because he is. Because… he's starting to realise there's something he's missed, and now he's going to look like he was hiding it, only he _wasn't_ hiding it because it was supposed to be _impossible_ , and…

"…I spoke to one of the locals," Dorian replies, as worried by Bull's tone as he is by what he's found out. "Asked them if they'd seen any other Tevinter mages passing through today. They said none today… but there was a group at least a week ago. At first I thought it must be another group of Venatori, and that was worrying enough, but… from their descriptions, it was Alexius and his entourage. _A week ago_."

He reiterates this last point to make sure everyone processes it. And then can't quite say the next part.

"…now… I know I'm not the _smartest_ ," Krem says, when the silence becomes painful. "But… that… isn't… right. Is it?"

"You're plenty smart. And no, it isn't." Bull's nose wrinkles and stays that way. "This sounds like some weird Darkspawn-demon-magister shit. Right?" He looks to Dorian expectantly. 

"…Ah… no… not exactly." Dorian looks even more worried. "So… I've never told you this before, because I didn't think it was relevant, but… one of the things Alexius and I were working on before we fell out was an amulet to manipulate time. The reason I didn't mention it is because we couldn't get it to work, but… it's possible he may have found a way. To travel through time. To get far enough ahead of us that we won't be able to catch him."

Bull's fist slams into the table, upsetting the level of various ales, and spreading the joy of it in ways that aren't all that joyful. " **SHITTING…** Magisters! How in all the levels of fuck do we fight someone who can… how does that even _work_? Blighted piece of shit, I should have smacked his nose into his skull and… AUGH!"

Dorian looks wretched. He wanted so badly to come back with either good news or no news, but this… this is neither. And he can't shake the feeling he should have mentioned the time amulet before, but it was _impossible_ , and he has no idea how Alexius has managed to make it work.

And he _really_ wants to know. Which is something else he's trying to hide, because it doesn't exactly look good, given that the man is now very much their enemy.

"…I don't know what else to tell you," he says, oddly quietly. "I can't prove it for sure, but I'm confident it's true. And if it is… there's nothing we can do about it. And…"

He trails off, and there's a look in his eyes which says, quite plainly, that he wants to run away and get ragingly drunk. Again. Even despite what happened yesterday. And he knows that's not a good thought to be having, but there it is nonetheless.

Bull thunks his horns back into the wall. Groans. And then sits forward again. "It's… alright. I mean, he's already ridiculously powerful. Why not add time-travel, too? He'll just… go down all that harder when we take him down."

Which is Bull-speak for positivity, or an attempt at it. He grabs the back of Dorian's neck, and squeezes. "If you were working on it with him, then… if anyone can fix it, it's you. And if you hadn't been working on it with him, we'd all be scratching our nutsacs and wondering what the hell was going on."

"Yeah, might still do that," Stitches admits. "But if you point me at something to stab, as long as it stays there long enough, I'll just stab it."

"What you do in bed is your own business," Krem jokes. "But yeah, what the Chief said. Glad we have _you_ on our side."

"Just think of the drinking story we'll have, after. We scared a man so much he shit himself back a week and ran off." Bull decides that, in retrospect, it does sound good. If you say it the right way. "We've really put the fucking fear of the Chargers into him. Means we're getting somewhere. Means he's _weak_."

Stitches squints, working through a thought. "I'd still like him not to do it, though, if we get a vote. Or – did we already need to have voted? Shit. I'm not drunk enough." 

"You can never be drunk enough where time travel is involved," Dorian says, still looking very dejected. "I just… can't quite believe he's made it work. We tried for _months_. He…"

He could have done anything. Could have been here for weeks, jumping back and forth. He could be responsible for what happened in Haven, for the hole in the sky. Or it could be a massive, unrelated clusterfuck. Dorian can't tell either way, and oh, he _hates_ that.

"You _say_ you can't be drunk enough, but have you _tried_?" Krem cocks his head. "Seems like as good a time as any to get that ale you owe me… right?"

"Some of our best plans happen when we're drunk," Bull agrees. "Some of the worst, too, but that shouldn't stop us." 

"What you say?" Krem asks. "Drown our sorrows and come up with a plan to kick ass?"

"Step one: Locate ass," Bull ticks them off on his fingers as he goes. "Step two: kick it."

Dorian looks hesitant. And… weirdly touched. "…right," he agrees, a little weakly, but not untruthfully. "My round it is. Even if it's a moot point, given that I had nothing but the clothes on my back when Bull first brought me home…"

But this part isn't said heavily, and he manages a little smile as he gets up and goes to order the drinks. And when he comes back, it's with far more than he has any right to be able to carry at once, except for the part where he's blatantly using magic to help.

What? It's meant to serve man, yes?

"This ought to start things off nicely," he says.

"Well, you have earned your keep," Bull says, when Dorian gets back. And then pats his thigh, indicating where he thinks the mage should sit. "Even if you didn't need to. _And_ half the point of getting a round in is you bother to get up off your ass for folks… not the coin." 

"Can you stop being adorable for just one evening?" Krem bitches. "I want to get drunk and hate people." Pause. "But not you people. Them-people."

"I could be sullen and pathetic instead, but you'd tire of me faster," Dorian replies. "I'm very good at doing sullen and pathetic when I'm drunk. Also loud and unnecessarily friendly. Or possessed of controversial political opinions. Or… any other number of things."

He sighs, and downs a lot more wine than is sensible in one go. Especially when it tastes like _that_.

"We've seen 'loud and friendly'. Your 'controversial' opinions probably aren't that outlandish amongst us. And I'd prefer you _weren't_ sullen and pathetic, kadan, but if you have to feel like that, I'd rather you felt it in good company to listen to you." Bull clanks his drink to Dorian's glass. 

"If you think we're gonna blame you--"

Krem snorts. "Nah. Not how it works, here. Blaming, I mean. Listening, yes."

Dorian sighs. He doesn't usually do this part with people he knows. Or… not ones he cares about, at least.

"I mean, _technically_ I am to blame, at least partially, but as far as I knew, we'd hit a wall and it was impossible. So… I don't actively blame myself for that part."

This is clearly not entirely true, but he's trying to _make_ it true, so maybe that's something. In the meantime, he has some more wine. Enough that he already needs a refill. Good job he thought of that.

"…I do feel like I've dragged you all on a fool's errand, though," he adds, as he tops his glass up. "If Alexius can time travel, we'll never catch him on our terms. Only… on his."

"The guy who first rubbed sticks together and went 'that's a bit hot, that' isn't responsible for everyone who sets fire to buildings, so…" Bull shakes his head. "You're good on that. And you can help us figure this shit out, because we're the door smashing types, not the… Veil smashing types."

Krem shrugs. "Was always going to be stupidly hard. We _like_ stupidly hard. You don't think we should give up, do you? You really want to tell that lovely thing," he points to Skinner with his thumb, "…that she doesn't get to use her pointy friends?"

"I wouldn't dare," Dorian answers, very truthfully, which gets him a nod from Skinner (but unsurprisingly no more). "And I'm not suggesting we give up. I couldn't even if I wanted to. I just… want you to understand the risks. And… that I appreciate you taking them. For me. And for the world, I know, but… even so."

He says this weirdly fast, and follows it up with more wine. But the sentiment isn't lost in the aftermath.

Krem uses his elbow. And then holds his tankard up, expectantly. "Chief said you were good. Would have been enough for me, but you're not so bad after all. You got my shield."

"Fat lot of good it does!" Bull says, and kicks at him. 

"Not my fault your arse is bigger than a _barn_."

"And there goes the moment," Stitches sighs. "But yeah, you're not that bad. We don't have to pretend you're a damn archer, for one. And you're not stealing any of my lovely, lovely ladies…"

"Or mine," Skinner adds, with a narrowed look.

Dorian finally laughs, just a little. "You have no worries there. Even if I _wasn't_ already taken, I prefer to be."

The double-entendre is _very_ deliberate, and he's quite unashamed by it. And possibly slightly drunk already. But at least he's slightly drunk in better company this time.

"I think we're not ready to plan, yet. So. Unless anyone objects… I suggest we drink until we are. Because fucked if any of us can ride a week's worth in a day, so we might as well go at a _sensible_ pace…" Bull says, gesturing with his own beverage. 

"On the horses, but not the hops," Stitches agrees.

"So… Dorian… you can say no… but I have a proposal…"

"…amatus, I already said yes," Dorian replies. He's currently on his way into the happy-drunk phase, which is probably helpful, though it does eventually lead to sullen-drunk. Which isn't. "And this lot were all there as well."

Bull leans in, pushing his nose into Dorian's. "You don't even know what I'm _asking_ for… but in this case, I'll let you off lightly." Even if he does trail a finger up from his knee. "I was going to ask… why don't you give us a crash course in all the weird magic shit you were doing. One: in case it turns up and we should expect it. And two: because you're good at that weird magic shit, and you get this look in your eyes when you talk about it, and it makes me want to--"

Krem pushes his own tankard into Bull's face to shut him up. "Can it, Chief. Kinky shit when you get back to your room."

Bull bites the rim of Krem's tankard with a little, playful growl. "Telling Dorian not to be kinky about magic is like telling me not to be horny for him."

"You're the one with the weird fetish."

"It's not weird. And it's _relevant_."

"…Let's hope it's not," Dorian replies. "Or, not any more than it already is. Gereon and I… we were trying to push at the limits of magical possibility. It's something he and his wife were both interested in, both researching, and they took apprentices to help them. Livia had several… Gereon just had me."

A little sigh, and a lot more wine. It's clear enough from his expression alone that he remembers those days very fondly indeed.

"We were studying the Veil – the boundary between our world and the Fade. Ways to use it, to warp it, to bend the rules. We spent months trying to find a way to manipulate time – to go forwards, or back, or freeze it entirely – but no matter how hard we tried, we never made it work."

Something's clearly changed, and Dorian is desperate to know what.

"It wasn't the only thing, though. We were also experimenting with transporting physical objects across a large distance instantaneously. Gereon became especially invested in that when his son Felix got accepted to the University of Orlais, because it was such a long journey from Tevinter… but, alas, we never made that one work either. The best we managed was moving a book from one side of the room to the other. And… it was slightly on fire when it arrived."

Dorian _knows_ they would have gotten that one to work if he'd had more time.

"And… after Livia was killed by Darkspawn, and Felix contracted the Taint, all of our efforts went into trying to cure the Blight. We made limited progress in slowing it, but no more than that."

"Well, I can see weaponised library attacks out of that," Bull starts off. "Or other shit. Imagine setting fire to something and – bam – it's under their nose? That's already useful…" Especially with _gaatlok_. Hmmm. 

"…you could slow the Blight? Like… did you only try on people?" Krem asks. "Or… uh…"

"Did you dick about with Darkspawn, I think he wants to ask," Bull supplies.

"Chief!"

"We're all friends here. And I didn't mean 'dick about' like _that_." Bull makes a face. "Ugh. Think even the fucking templar wouldn't touch that."

"…a little," Dorian admits. "I'm not saying we brought live ones into Minrathous, because we weren't _stupid_ , but… we took risks. And we had people take risks on our behalf. We were trying to save lives. A working cure wouldn't just have helped Felix… it would have changed the world. Changed the Blights. Saved the Wardens from their terrible fate. But… we couldn't do it."

Not ethically, at least. Though Gereon had started suggesting… less-acceptable things, right before the end. Things Dorian would have wanted no part in.

"You think maybe you still could?" Stitches leans forwards. "I mean. It was magic in the first place, wasn't it? And I don't mean that in a 'it's all magic's fault' thing… but in a 'maybe magic can fix magic' way?"

"Honestly?" Dorian replies. "Yes. But I think it would take a long time. Longer than Felix has, certainly. That's why I told his father… well. What I told him. But eventually… I think it could be done. It would likely be faster if you broke certain moral boundaries, but there's no way I'd do that."

"And as for where the Blight came from… the stories say the Magisters Sidereal were cursed with it by the Maker for daring to enter the Golden City. Whether you believe in the Maker or not… the Magisters Sidereal _certainly_ existed, and they _certainly_ walked in the Fade. So however you believe they first contracted the Taint, it was magical in origin, yes. Which means the solution should be, too."

Krem pushes up to his feet. "I have an important announ-announcement to make."

Before anyone can stop him, he's on the chair.

"You--" he points, only swaying a little, so it mostly lands on Dorian. "Can shtay. And fix that shit. And… BEER!"

Bull lifts his tankard. "BEER," he agrees. 

"Why isn't there more beer?" Krem asks, gesturing with the tankard. "I 'pifically wanted… get round in."

"You have to actually do it, not just think it," Stitches reminds him.

"Ohhhyeah."

"Did you give him anything for the pain?" Bull asks the healer. "Because… he's even more pissed than normal. And if so: can we all have some?"

"Think that's just him," Stitches shrugs. "He's in a good mood."

"SOMEONE GET US BEER," Krem yells. "Is MY round!" 

"…And here I was thinking _I_ was supposed to be the outrageous one," Dorian remarks, smiling again. "Though I can't promise I won't climb up there with him in a little while…"

Skinner does her face of why-am-I-the-normal-one – not that anyone is convinced by it – and goes to allay the fears of the tavern servers with surprising efficiency. Dorian catches the odd word from the conversation (something about 'those crazy Vints' and 'better not start any fires') but mercifully no more, and decides the best thing to do is leave her to it. If nothing else, she does possess the remarkable ability to appear completely sober even when decidedly not, and that's a magic even Dorian has never learned.

"…Cremisius, dear boy, come down from the furniture," he tries, instead, in what he hopes is a playfully affectionate tone.

"View's good," Krem says, even though it's probably just as much that getting down requires more grace and poise than he has right now. 

"Krem's pissed that I'm so tall," Bull says, clasping a hand to his chest. "He takes after his father, not me."

Krem barks a laugh. "You have better tits than my mum."

"And you left your nuts with a demon squirrel." Bull drops his chin on Dorian's shoulder. "You see? I think it's just in your damn blood, kadan. Either that, or I got the two best ones."

"Not my fault you have tits. I like tits. Just. On other people." Krem suddenly perks up as more alcohol is incoming. "My round!"

"Kadan… does my womanly bosom offend you?" Bull decides flexing and bouncing his chest is now the most appropriate course of action. "They don't put you off?"

"Do you even know how nice you are to go to sleep on?" Dorian counters, amused. "Soft, warm and comfortable. Of course I don't mind. And you have _everything_ I need elsewhere, too…"

He gives a _very_ wicked grin, and makes a gesture to Krem indicating something of _significant_ size. And… then goes back to topping up his wine with the world's most unconvincing innocent look.

" _Now_ you're being **ruuuuude**." Krem pouts.

Bull exhales sharply. "Look, I told you I'd take you to buy your own _saartoh nehrappan_ , if you need someone to hold your hand."

"I _have_ one. Aaaaaand it's bigger'n yours."

"…you'd fall over."

Krem stands As Heroes Do. "Not in bed."

Which means Bull bursts out laughing even more. "Well. Good. I'm glad your lady friends will appreciate your Qunari cock."

"S'big." Krem illustrates, without it being there, by gyrating and thrusting. 

"So we've established that Qunari have the best dicks, and Vints are fucking _freaks_." Bull runs a finger over Dorian's partially-bare shoulder. "I _knew_ your lot were barely-repressed sexual fiends. With a fascination with big dicks."

"Could we maybe stop insulting manhoods?" Stitches asks, crossing his legs. "Not everyone needs to be split into pieces, in my experience."

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, my friend," Dorian replies, brightly, with an expression that is _all_ eyebrows, before he turns back to Bull.

" _Barely_ , barely-repressed," he clarifies. "You should see Minrathous after Satinalia… even _I_ get scandalised by some of the stories, and I used to hang out in brothels. For the _atmosphere_."

At this point, Skinner wanders back over with a very affectionate woman in tow, and a look in her eyes that almost – almost – suggests she's been drinking. "So… long story short, this nice lady and I are going to do all kinds of fun things to each other with our tongues. Bye. Try not to get arrested before you all pass out…"

And, without waiting for a response, she and the very affectionate woman turn and head off.

"Hurrah!" Dorian cheers, approvingly.

"She made a friend." Krem sniffles. "It's so sweet. Sometimes I wish I was gay. Do you know what it's like telling your mother you _aren't_?"

Which, for most people, would be an entirely different experience, but Krem is too drunk, it seems, to have remembered.

"Your mother should be proud of her son," Bull insists. "And anyway, weren't we planning… something?"

"To forget the whole night?" Stitches suggests.

"YES! WAIT! I HAVE IT!"

Thankfully Krem is in the stage of drunk where emotions may be intense, but can change with a gust of wind. "Dicks."

"…your plan to save the world is… dicks?" Bull pulls Dorian in for a more… close-knit cuddle. "Do go on."

"Well they got those big… magic sticks. And Qunari got big… _magic_ sticks. So… we make them…" Krem swaps his arms around. "Qunari… shit themselves… Vints… fuck themselves!"

"…is it wrong that I want to try this?" Bull asks. "Like, _sooooooo_ badly?"

"…You want to fuck _yourself?_ " Dorian tries, staring at him. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose? Sex is _much_ better with two…"

He's also now doing the look of 'allow me to demonstrate' or, in Dorian-terms, 'ravish me, ravish me'. Thought possibly not on a table in the middle of the tavern. (Again).

"…or, wait, do you want to get fucked with a mage's staff? Because I've tried that and, let me tell you, it plays _havoc_ with your mana…"

"…I meant… swap them all around for everyone else and watch," Bull says, but now his eyebrows lift. "Though now you're giving me ideas… you think you could do that while I'm showing you the real Qunari deal? Because if you're offering…"

"I meant the Vints would all be busy buggering themselves with things while the-- does anyone even remember there's a bloody _war_ on?" Krem throws his hands up, then jumps off the furniture. 

"You raise a good point, Krem. But Dorian raises a _better_ one. Or two. Three, if you count his staff…" Bull's tongue sneaks out in a 'yes, this is a very good idea, I hope you're not so drunk you can't put out and I hope I didn't say that bit aloud but you understand anyway' way, which is a lot for a tongue to say when not actually forming words. "Can we discuss your plan in the morning, when you've come up with specifics? I need to debrief Dorian about _his_."

"I shan't tell you a thing," Dorian says, in his most imperious voice. Or, what he intends to be his most imperious voice through a haze of bad, Fereldan wine. "Cremisius is right. We are at war, and I can't go giving away all our secrets."

The 'ravish me, ravish me' look is, if anything, getting stronger.

"You're not at war with _me_ , but you might be if you have sexual deviances you're not **sharing**. I'm going to be your husband, for fuck's sake! Quite literally for fuck's sake!" Bull reaches over to Dorian's staff, which is propped just to the side of him. And… oh, well, if his hands start to fondle and tease it, and he hefts it to feel the weight, and twists his hand around the shaft of it…

"Maybe should just yell 'Oi, Magister, bend over!'," Krem huffs. "Reckon half the sodding problem is people not getting enough."

Bull seems to have forgotten anyone else exists, because now he's rubbing his cheek against Dorian's staff. "I could make you talk. Or I could just take this back to our room… if you can't multitask, maybe I should just see to myself… won't be the same as you, but you might be watching… Isn't it the same thing, anyway? Pretty much like riding the real deal, for all you mages get _so_ attached to these…"

"Right, have a good one," Stitches says, and picks his beer up. "Don't start another war."

"No promises!" Dorian calls, without taking his eyes off Bull. And his staff. "And if you run off with my staff, we _both_ know you're taking the easy way out. And the less fun one. And if you think what I can do to you with magic alone is fun, just _imagine_ how much more intense it would be with a staff to amplify it…"

He smiles. "…if you can be suitably persuasive, of course. To make it worth my while. Cavorting with the enemy… _oh_ , what will people think if they find out I just gave up all my secrets..?"

Bull's tongue is long. Very long. Not as long as other things. Still, when it comes out at full stretch and starts to lick up the staff, accompanied with a moan that has half the inn shuffling in their seats… it's an impressive tongue. 

"They'll think _that Qunari must have the best dick that ever dicked_ because the Vint it belongs **in** is _incredibly_ satisfied, has screamed the roof off at least _five_ times since they started counting…"

He closes his eye, and turns his head sideways, mouth opening to take the staff in lengthways, his lips spread around it. His jaw and throat work, along with more moaning… then his eye flicks open and meets Dorian's. 

"Show me the best you can do, and I will split you in two, and the only things that will keep you in one piece will be my hands on your hips, and the come that glues your insides back together. Because. I. _Will_. Take you so hard and deep the only things coming out your mouth will be what I've poured in through your ears. You will forget there ever _was_ a war, because the only thing that will matter is staying conscious enough to come again. And again. And again. Show me what this lovely stick of yours can do… and I will show you things you never even dreamed of, in any walk in the Fade." 

"Amatus, you have a deal," Dorian replies, resisting the urge to put his own hand on the staff and thereby start said demonstration right now. But only because of what he instead says next.

"However… before we make all these fine people glad we're only staying one night, possibly we should put dear Cremisius to bed first. I don't think he should be left unsupervised, and seeing as both Skinner _and_ Stitches have wandered off, we may have to be the responsible members of the group for once. An alarming realisation, I know, but an important one."

"What?" Krem makes a very disgusted noise. "I don't need to go to bed."

"You might not," Bull says, not turning his gaze from his intended, "…but I certainly do."

"I've got beeeeer."

"And we know how you pointed out Dorian shouldn't drink alone? Same for you." Bull uses the staff to push to his feet, and apparently isn't letting go of it. "Come on. You did good today, kid. Time to rest up and let the old ones have their beauty sleep."

"Fiiiine." Krem points a finger into Bull's chest. "But only 'cause he's good for you. Wouldn't if he wasn't." Then, his other arm crosses over the first and pokes Dorian. "And you… not bad. You're okay. Also, beer is good."

"You're OK too, dear boy," Dorian replies, with a little smile. "And you helped stop me doing something really stupid tonight. Again. So… I appreciate that. Now, come along, it's past your bedtime."

He's not really the sort for manhandling – unless it's Bull – so he just sort of hopes Krem will take the hint. Or Bull will help. Or… possibly both, because Dorian _is_ also very drunk. He just has a higher tolerance than most, on account of extensive experience.

"You're not my _daaaaad_." Krem lifts his nose imperiously, and then sets off in the wrong direction. Until Bull coughs. "Just… testing," he insists. "Well done."

"You see what I have to deal with? You're positively decorous and civilised in comparison," Bull points out to Dorian. "Although I'm hoping you're going to prove me very wrong, very soon." 

" _Very_ wrong," Dorian replies, before turning to Krem. "Come along, son…"


	26. Chapter 26

Mercifully, they manage to get Krem safely to his own room before retreating to theirs. The inn is unnecessarily cold once you get out of the main tavern part, but there is at least a fire crackling away in the grate in their guest room, which helps.

As much as anything in this ridiculously frozen country does.

Once the door is safely closed, Dorian immediately stops pretending to be sensible. Or, that's what's been happening in his head, at least.

"Amatus, darling, give me the staff."

Bull really has a good line in 'shit eating' grins, and suddenly thinks the most interesting thing in the world to do is spin said staff, expertly, if entirely non-magically. "Hmm?"

"Oh, you heard me." Dorian looks – and, indeed, feels – weirdly focused right now. "Give me the staff, and I'll show you a magic trick."

"You mean you can't without it?" Bull slings it over his shoulders, and then drops his wrists over the top of it, deliberately posturing. He's clearly feeling more than a little playful. "Why don't you _take_ it… if you're going to take _me_ , first…?"

"Of course I can without it," Dorian answers, the alcohol making him daring. "Though the particular one you've _requested_ does require it, and I would hate to disappoint you. Then again, if you want to make this challenging…"

The room goes dark; Dorian extinguishing the lamps with a flick of the hand. He leaves the fire, though, because drama is all well and good, but sex is less fun if you're freezing. And then light of a different kind springs up: crackling arcs of static, along both of his arms.

"…I'm only too happy to oblige."

" _Ataash varin kata_!" Bull tosses the staff up, catches it in one hand, and drops into a ready position. "We are at war, after all…" 

And his heart is _pounding_ with the excitement of it. He has no intention of doing anything more than rile Dorian up, because the more intense the lead-in… the more intense the next steps will be, too. 

He folds the fingers of one hand in, beckoning him to start.

Dorian doesn't need the invitation, though he's more than happy to act on it. He feels… strange; weirdly calm and level, and if his heart is racing too, he's not aware of it. It's the way he feels at the start of genuine combat: so sure and controlled, and confident in what he knows he's capable of.

Which Bull clearly wants to see.

Both hands flick forward: one flinging bolts of lightning at the other man, and the second sending a pulse of non-elemental magic right at his staff. Because it doesn't matter who's _holding_ it, after all. The pulse charges along the length, amplifying the static and heating up at the same time, so that Bull will have to work hard to keep hold of it.

Bull yelps in shock at the sensation, his immediate reflex to let go, then grab at it in the air again, even though it's _incredibly_ unpleasant, and therefore _very_ arousing. "Oh – so you want me, do you? You think you can tame the Bull?"

He's not going to yield, not really. But he might relent in resisting, which is something else entirely. 

"I want you, all right," Dorian answers. "But I have no interest in taming you. I like you _wild_."

The double-entendre is very deliberate, too. Because _wild_ is precisely what he intends to drive Bull when he gets the man pinned. He advances, utterly fearless, hands glowing – letting more of that lightning crackle over him, if only for effect – and then launches rapidly forwards, slamming both hands against Bull's chest.

He has to do this fast, after all. Bull is still very large and very strong, and Dorian doesn't want to _really_ hurt him. Just in fun ways. So the moment he makes contact, he sends a wave of intense sensation coursing through the other man; enough to reduce the risk of him resisting when Dorian summons up as much strength as he can and attempts to flip Bull down onto the floor.

Of course, Bull doesn't _actually_ want to win. Not round one. He could resist more, but it might tire Dorian out too soon for it to be as satisfying as he wants, and also he _really_ wants to get to the next part. 

So he allows himself to be barrelled over, letting go of the staff, but only to grab Dorian's face in both hands and smash his mouth to his lover's, demanding a kiss as violent and passionate as he wants everything _else_ , right now. "I want _you_ , kadan. So why don't you put your magic where your mouth is, and show me _just_ how you're the _pinnacle_ of perfection…" 

Dorian straddles Bull's hips, settling into place on top of him during the kiss, and then _slamming_ down with a fresh wall of force as the other man speaks, pinning him in place with breathless ease.

"Perfection?" he repeats. "I understand why you might think that. I _am_ the product of generations of careful breeding. The trouble is… I'm also something of a _deviant_."

His hands stroke over Bull's chest, trailing sparks and arousal in their wake: enough to get a response, but not nearly enough to do any more. Not yet.

The pressure means Bull's head swims, breathing a little tight and that urge – frustrated – to buck up, or grind, or… anything. He tries to squirm, and moves to curl his hands non-threateningly around Dorian's neck and shoulders. 

"That's what _makes_ you perfect. All that power… all that knowledge, education. Such a finely-honed mind in a perfectly-tuned body… _and you're nearly as wild as me_." 

Dorian leans into the touches, looking pleased, and then he smiles again. "Nearly? Oh, amatus, I beg to differ…"

A snap, and Bull's hands are slammed down onto the floor, either side of his head. Without Dorian moving another muscle.

"…I'm much more wild. I just hide it better."

And with Bull completely pinned, Dorian can lean in to kiss him again. On _his_ terms. Which, right now, are rough, and hungry, and involve nearly as many nips and bites as they do anything softer.

Bull is pretty sure he could fuck his way through solid stone right now, because he can't move. At all. And that goes so, so deep through him that his head just goes… sideways. All the way into feral, furious hunger, and he strains to make sure Dorian has to put enough effort into stopping him from flipping the tables on him. 

That makes Dorian smile again, looking _very_ pleased with himself. Even more so because he knows how much it will fuel the other man when he _does_ finally flip the tables.

Not yet, though. Not until Dorian has given him _plenty_ of reasons to want revenge. Amongst other things.

"You like this more than you admit," he remarks, sliding a little lower so he can start slowly undressing Bull. "Not in the way I do, I know, but… even so. Why is that? Is it all just motivation for what comes after… or do you like the reminder of how much I'm capable of..?"

"More than I admit?" Bull snorts. "No. I do like it. A _lot_." He purrs as fingers bare him, bit by bit. "But only when it's _you_. I like knowing what a powerful thing I can control… and I like when I'm pushed to _my_ limits. When I know _I_ don't need to hold back…"

He cracks his neck. "It's _hot_. The higher you rise, the further the fall… and the more it takes to put you back where you belong…" And, then, a softness for a moment. "Plus it means… you really do choose this. All of it. That I'm not hurting you. That we're _more_." 

Dorian's eyes flash with delight. "Oh, I choose this. Don't ever doubt that. If I didn't want it, I wouldn't be here. I'm _very_ stubborn when people try to make me do things against my will…"

He finishes stripping Bull from the waist down – given that the man doesn't need any more stripping _above_ the waist – and then starts on himself, but oh-so-slowly, because he knows the watching will provoke something of an effect in his lover. He doesn't go all the way, though: shedding his robe and boots, but keeping his trousers for the time being. Wanting to make it very clear what his focus is.

"Now… I'm going to _have_ to warm you up," he points out, trailing fingertips low on Bull's stomach. "Even you won't want to take something as rigid as a staff-end without some encouragement first. Plus you spend far too much time focused on me but never enough letting me reciprocate. And I'm _very_ good at that…"

"I like knowing how _much_ you do," Bull says, his expression… complicated. And then his stomach pulls in at the touches and words, and there's a very, very short, garbled noise at that offer. Demand? Threat? Promise?

"I like… to… give." Especially to him. Very much so. "I like… to know… I am…" 

This makes Dorian's expression a little softer. "That you're what?" he asks, but gently. Aware he's touched… not a nerve, but definitely a strong emotion. "Good enough? Giving enough? I know all about self-doubt, amatus. And let me tell you… you have _nothing_ to worry about. I've never known a more generous lover, and that's before we even begin to consider how _creative_ you are…"

"…but you really do need to _accept_ attention as well as give it. And much as I love lying back and letting you direct things the way you want them, sometimes I want to thank you for it. _Physically_. Because you deserve nothing less."

"That I know I am… making you happy," Bull expands, and sucks his lip in. "Because I want to. So very, very much." And he realises maybe he's not so good at accepting the reciprocation, and it's not like he's panicking, it's just… Big. In his head. 

"…maybe… that's why I like… this, too. Then I don't have a choice, for a while. And I can't get out of it." Even if he doesn't think he really des… fuck. "Kadan…" He doesn't want to talk about it, or can't, it seems. Not easily. He tries to stir, a grumble of niggly protest and no more. " _Do it_. Please." 

Part of Dorian wants to push the matter, because he knows there's more to it. But part of him also wants to keep going, because it will make Bull happy. And him too.

"You make me happy," he points out. " _Blissfully_ so. Most of Thedas has heard the screams by now. But… you also make me happy in other ways. Like… when you rescue me from doing something monumentally stupid. Or when you hold me so tight that I forget I ever knew what it was like _not_ to be so loved. And I want to thank you for that. I _also_ want to make you howl my name to the rafters, because I do like enthusiastic praise…"

He's trying to walk a tricky line here, between acknowledging the genuine emotional issues without pulling them down into a Serious Conversation. He just has to hope it's working.

Sliding a little lower, so he can get to the other man's cock, he starts stroking fingertips up and down the length, over and over, trailing sparks in their wake. Enough to produce some _very_ lovely sensations, without going so far as to hurt, or to push things too fast.

Bull's response to that is even less intelligible noises, and tensing of his groin as he tries to fruitlessly fuck up and into the touches. They feel damn, damn good, but it's – it's as much that Dorian wants to put the effort in, and…

"You just – I – _fuck_ – need you to know how much you mean, and – and – how it's _you_. Not just – not just some hole, I-- fuck! Or fuck! It's…" He isn't quiet, though it is strained, and he's clearly affected more than just by the touches. 

"…need… you to know how… _good_ you are… f-for me… for everyone… feel better when you do… makes the bad shit go when you're h-happy… kadan, when… when you're happy you fucking _glow_ , and… and… s'like a drug and I need _more_."

Like. Now. He definitely needs more, and he's not shy about whining. 

"You did that," Dorian reminds him, softly. "You made me this happy. No one else. You think I could ever doubt that you meant to? That you wanted to? I know I'm not a convenience. You had the opportunity to make me one, but you chose something more. And I am very… _very_ grateful…"

He lets go of Bull's cock and leans up to kiss him once more, slow and deep and careful. Although… it's also to allow him to give a flick of the hand, yanking the other man's legs apart at the same time.

"…as I shall now demonstrate."

Bull _keens_ , and it's high-pitched and hungry and he looks so very, very, very rapt and needy. It's rushing through him, making strange things happen in his head and chest. It's not like going under, it's more like… daming up a river, and letting the pressure build until it's almost unbearable and the whole structure groans under the weight. 

" _Do it_ ," he rasps. "Do it for me. I'll do it for you. You're the other half of one tooth, kadan. And – and even if I take you more… I like to know we're _one_. And when you let me go… I'll give you everything you gave me, and more. Over and over. Your happiness, my happiness… it's the same." 

"I know," Dorian replies. "I know. I promise I'll make this good… and I _know_ you'll do the same, when you break free and take back control…"

He's looking forward to that part just as much. It's why he enjoys doing it this way: starting off on top and then getting quite decidedly flipped when the moment comes. It gives him the chance to indulge his (lovingly) wicked side, whilst knowing that all of it will fuel Bull's inevitable response.

A flick of one hand, and sparks start to course over Bull's cock again, enough to feel good but clearly not going for anything more just yet. And then a second gesture makes one of those invisible points of focus start teasing at his ass, circling and toying and then slowly, slowly sliding in.

"Unholy son of a-- AUGH!" It's always a little terrifying, even knowing it's Dorian, and it's safe, and it's good. It's just not natural to be touched without touch, to feel things without flesh behind it. And maybe that's why he likes it so much, despite himself, because he does what he can to grind down, push down, using his muscles to work hard at the penetration to give him more. 

"Y-you like it, just watching?" Bull forces from his throat. "You like this more? You… want to see me writhing, or you just want to s-show off?" 

Dorian smiles. "Both," he answers, truthfully. "Of course. I love doing things to you that no one else ever has. I love the look you get in your eyes when it's something _really_ impressive. And… I love making you _need_ so very much, because I know the payoff will be all the sweeter for it."

"And… because you're worth the effort. _More_ than worth it. I'd sit here for hours just slowly, slowly teasing you, if it was what you wanted. But… I know you want more than that. Which is good, because I do too."

He increases the attention on both fronts, warming Bull up a little faster, and leaning in to kiss him at the same time; slow and careful, and nipping along the man's jaw when he finally has to break for breath.

"You're so damn hot," he murmurs. "And every line of tension… every flicker of need… they're as irresistible as a fine wine. And better for me."

Bull has to admit he likes Dorian watching. It's erotic as hell to be the focus of so much attention, and to see how very, very into this his lover is. Even if it's weird, to not be touching always, but isn't that the same as rope, in a way? 

"I think… I'd break the bed and go mad… if you took too much time," he says, chasing those lips and fighting again, wanting more touches. "Makes me need your skin on mine. On my lips. Inside me. Around me…" Another growl, needier. "When I can't touch you, it's like… hunger you can't imagine… every place I want to reach… it's you, but it's _not-you_ , like you're just beyond my grasp…" 

Which is in many ways terrifying to him. Not in the sense that it's magic, but in the sense that he could ever lose that connection. "No one else ever made it hurt _inside_. And I don't mean my ass." 

"The good kind of hurt, I hope," Dorian says, kissing down the side of Bull's neck and stroking firm fingertips across his chest. "The kind where you _need_ , and you _want_ , and only one person in existence can sate the longing…"

"Good kind? You have _no_ idea how good…" Bull offers his throat all too willingly, very vocal in his enjoyment of the contact. It's better, when he can still feel him. It compliments the ethereal touches, grounding them and reassuring him. 

Dorian smiles again, leaning to press another, quicker kiss to Bull's lips, and then sitting back. "…Speaking of longing, much as I am tempted to keep doing no more than this, I'm also very eager to move to the main event…"

A hand out, and he takes hold of his staff which is still lying nearby, flipping it so the top – with its horned skull – is furthest away, and the other end is where he can run his hand over it suggestively.

"You know, you're lucky I'm not an aficionado of pointed staff blades," he remarks. "Some mages have them so sharp, you could run a person through with one in a _not_ -fun way. I prefer mine more rounded. Heavy. Helps as a counterbalance. And… conveniently makes it more useful for _other_ things too…"

At the sight of his hand on the weapon, Bull's tongue tracks over his lips. It sends even more of a jolt down to his lap, and he squirms, trying to get some kind of friction against him. 

"Does it make you hard, thinking about sodomising me with your staff? Using your magical tools to make me come? Big, bad Qunari… buggered by the thing he's supposed to hate most in the world?" 

Then he _purrs_. "What will you do? Flood my ass with so much lust I have no choice but to take you down and _ream_ the mana out of you? Maybe I'm the damn sex toy…" 

"I prefer to think of it more as… showing you what you've been missing," Dorian replies, smoothly. "Not that many in Tevinter would _admit_ to doing this sort of thing, even with their official partners. That doesn't mean it doesn't happen. Just like most of the other things we do…"

The hand on his staff starts to glow, now; a warm and soothing kind of light. It's another bastardisation of a well-used spell, designed to make sure the staff tip is clean. Only once he's satisfied that it is does Dorian switch to a different spell… which now leaves the wooden surface slick.

"And yes," he adds, "I'm going to make this as intense as I possibly can. I want it to be good for you. And _then_ I want to enjoy the consequences…"

"…let me go, just for a moment?" Bull asks, though he doesn't sound worried. "Please." 

He may not sound worried, but the words take Dorian by surprise, and his eyes immediately go to Bull's face, checking he hasn't said something wrong. And… then he's more confused than concerned.

"Tell me why," he pushes, just far enough into headspace to not immediately relent.

"Because you _are_ the only one who can sate my longing, slake my thirst… and I wanted to hold your face, and kiss you, and hold you while you fuck me," Bull answers, without hesitation. "I want to touch you, when you do it. I want to hold myself back, and know I can." 

"You know I don't have to," Dorian reminds him, but gently. "Not according to the rules. I don't _have_ to unless I hear your watchword. But… you also know I'd do anything for you. Anything to make you happy."

A wave of his free hand, and the pressure across Bull's whole body lifts, leaving him free to move.

"I reserve the right to pin you again if I want," he adds, though he's smiling, clearly playful.

"It's why I _asked_ ," Bull points out, grinning just as much. "There was never a rule against asking." Except during the 'don't talk' parts, but this isn't one of those. 

He pushes up on one elbow, taking Dorian's face in his palm and begging at his lips for a kiss, before nudging his nose to his lover's, all fuzzily affectionate and needy for a moment. It's normally how he is after, not before. "I just wanted my hands to hold on, kadan. You can pin me all you want… even my wrists… but I'd like that, if you would, too." 

Illustrating the point, his palms come down over his shoulders, fingers curled around and thumbs over his collarbone, and Bull gazes warmly up at him. "Kadan… would you please fuck me? Fuck me so full of your magic that I _have_ to give you some back…"

That makes Dorian smile even more, and he gently pushes Bull back down – using only his hands, not his magic – and curls in over him, kissing him some more. "And here I was thinking _I'm_ the one with the silver tongue," he purrs.

He moves after a moment, leaving Bull free to do the same if he wants, and hefts his staff again, flipping it round so the end he needs is pointing right between Bull's legs.

"I'll take this slowly. If you need it even slower, or to stop entirely, just say." Not that he expects it to be an issue, but it's better to be safe than sorry. Especially when your lover's ass is involved.

He lets the last of the magical-pressure fade slowly – wanting to keep Bull as relaxed as possible – and then moves the staff tip in closer, tracing the sensitive skin between his legs; up, and down, and around, and… carefully, carefully starting to push it into him.

"Maybe you licked mine the same colour?" Bull suggests, happily stretched out on his back. He plants the soles of his feet, then makes sure he's gazing right at him. Makes sure he sees everything he wants to. Every flicker, every tense, every twitch. 

His hands grip tighter as the staff starts to push in, the fingers kneading at Dorian's muscular shoulders, and Bull is as good as his word. Other than the slightest movements of his hips, the only thing he's doing is holding on more firmly. 

"Oh, that's good… _fuck_ but if the Qun knew I let you do this… if the Ben-Hassrath knew I'd _beg_ you to take me with your staff…" His cock twitches, and he tilts his hips a little in response. "N-not slower. Kadan… _not_ slower!"

"We'll just have to keep it our little secret," Dorian replies, smoothly. He doesn't speed up, though. Not immediately. Not when that fucking _delicious_ edge is so very obvious in Bull's tone. "Otherwise they'll _all_ want their turn, and I'm strictly exclusive now."

Slowly, slowly, deeper. Partly to drive the other man wild, and partly because he _is_ being careful. But he moves a little faster once he's more sure of it, and especially once he's gone far enough to start drawing the staff back and forth with firm, measured strokes; fucking Bull hard.

Bull's hands slide up into Dorian's hair, and he cranes to bury his face in his neck, broken sounds of rough enjoyment and emotion bubbling out with each thrust. He bends one leg, up and over Dorian's waist, leaving the other down so he doesn't interfere with the arm that's working him so nicely over. 

"Can't. Have you. **Can't**. You're mine. I'm yours. Gonna marry the fuck out of you… ahh, ahh yes, yes, there, kadan…"

His hips tilt as he seeks the angle he needs, the planted leg twitching and shaking as he tries to ride the staff. "Oh _fuck_ yes…" 

"Oh yes," Dorian echoes. "All yours. I'll give you everything you need. _Everything_. In every way you need it. I love you. I love you so fucking much…"

He starts moving the staff a little faster still, now he can see that Bull's definitely enjoying it. That he _needs_ it. And… now he starts letting magic flow out into it, pulsing with warmth and _sensation_ , knowing having it pressed so deep will feel absolutely fucking incredible.

Also maddening. But the two go hand in hand in a situation like this, and he's not done yet.

"SHIT. SHIT. You'd do this to yourself… and you think I'm enough?" Bull arches, and pushes down, his insides working over the intrusion as firmly as he can, twitching away from it and then trying again. 

"…if I could do this… I'm not sure I'd have _wanted_ anyone… I'd have never left my bedroom to even meet them… DAMN." Bull paws at Dorian's shoulders, fingers pressing in hard. "Nggghhh, wish… wish I could make you feel this good…" 

One horn drags under his head, and he's clamping his lips around Dorian's throat, pulling with his mouth and tongue, suckling and swallowing, wanting to leave his mark and muffle his emotions into his skin. 

"You _do_ make me feel this good," Dorian reminds him, gently. "It's not just about the size, or the depth – both of which you have in abundance, by the way – but the _connection_. And I know now I never had that with anyone, not until you. You can look at me and smile and it feels _just_ as good as being bent over and reamed. Better, even. Because that ends, but you're still here."

Though of course that doesn't mean you can't do both. Especially when you're so very full of mana and eager to share it. He works a little harder – spurred on by the attention to his neck – and charges the magical pulses more sharply, wanting to build to something _really_ intense.

If he didn't have his mouth full, the Iron Bull would have made some terribly unbecoming noise. As it is, it becomes some weird squawk, and then kisses his way up to his jaw, biting at stubble, then holding his lover's face where they can stare at each other. 

"Doesn't mean I don't want to do _more_ ," Bull whispers, tracking his face intently. "Doesn't mean I don't want to… to give you every last shiver of pleasure it's possible to feel. I _need_ you. I need… I need it all, kadan. I **can't** be, not without you, not ever again." 

He starts to really grind back, letting the grunts and moans fall from his lips. "Only you. Would never have let anyone touch me like I let you. It's – you're – _so_ much more. And I thank the fucking stars I found you."

"I know," Dorian reminds him, softly. "I feel the same way, remember? I may have been with many men, but not one of them made me feel close to the way you do. Not one of them was worthy of my _surrender_ the way you are. I'd never given up control, not really. Not until you. And you… the _moment_ I did, I knew it was right."

Maybe it's an odd conversation to have when _he's_ the one on top, reaming the other man open… but that doesn't stop it being true. And this, right now, this isn't about control, or surrender, even if they work elements of it into their little narrative. No. This is about _giving_ , all and everything, because Bull deserves it.

And about sharing something with him that he's never had before. Especially to prove why a talented mage makes such an excellent bedmate.

"You – you look so – when you _go_ – and I – I know what a precious thing you give me… how much it means… when you know you're **safe** and I know it's because of me…" Bull keens, and then he's holding Dorian's shoulders, trying to keep control of himself. His body aches to move, and he's trying so hard to just enjoy this, to let himself enjoy it.

"…kadan…? I…"

Dorian kisses his neck. "Tell me what you need, amatus. Tell me. Anything. If you need me to stop, if you need me to make you come, if you need to flip me on my back and punish me for being so _presumptive_ … anything. I want to make you happy."

He means it so very, very much. The look the other man gets in his eyes when he's truly blissful is more wonderful than the finest wine. More wonderful even than a _lot_ of the finest wine. And it's an addiction Dorian knows he can chase as much as he wants, and all it will do is make things _better_ , not worse.

"I'll flip you… later… I won't ask permission." Bull smiles, and chuckles. "But first… I want you inside me. In my mouth, in my ass with your stick… I don't care, I just… I want to feel you inside." 

His hands move, down his spine, grabbing hold of Dorian's ass. "I want you to come inside me… so I have something to punish you _for_. And by punish you, I mean: give you a hundred times harder what you gave me, to make up for the magic I can't do. Gotta live up to your example, after all." 

Bull's smile softens. "I want to feel that, too. I want to feel you enjoying _me_. Before I go mad with it and it's too much to process."

That makes Dorian smile more. "Oh, you have a magic all of your own," he points out. "It may not be fuelled by mana… but it still makes me feel like I'm touching the Fade…"

He leans in, gently pushing Bull back down – doing it slowly, so it's clear he's not trying for anything more – and curls in over him. "I'm going to give you one more pulse of magic," he says. "It's going to be _intense_. The staff lets me amplify it, you see, so I can get a _much_ stronger result with far less effort. It will make you come, and it will make you come _hard_ , and once you have, I'm going to pin you down, and take you myself when you're still shivering from the aftershocks."

"And _then_ ," he adds, "once being deep inside you has made _me_ come screaming, you can do _anything_ you want with me. Or to me. And I'll _revel_ in it."

But he doesn't move immediately; his expression making it clear that this is Bull's one chance to object, if he does. Not that Dorian thinks he will, but you should never presume, especially not with something like this.

" _Yes_ ," Bull replies, his eye glittering with hunger for everything he's said. His stomach is in knots, his cock aching in anticipation. "Look at me. Look at me when you make me come. Look at me when _you_ come. I want to see. I _need_ to see. **Please**." 

He nearly forgets to ask nicely, because too often he's the one calling the shots, and he has to remember that this isn't quite that, not yet. It's a strange, nearly-flipped place, where his mind keeps rolling and turning over, unsure which way to point. Or trying all at once. 

"Let me see you fuck me. I want to know how it feels." 

Dorian doesn't need to be asked nicely, though that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy it. Oh no. He smiles at the words, kissing Bull softly on the lips and then meeting his eye.

"I love you," he murmurs. "I love you so very much."

And he _shunts_ the staff in hard, at the same time as charging it with the strongest magical pulse he dares; fierce, radiating sensation that will burst through flesh and blood like nothing else. Enough to pull even a resistant person over the edge, and to _wreck_ one who's already close.

Which is what Dorian wants to see. This strong, brave, brilliant man falling apart, because of him. Because he trusts him enough, and loves him enough. Because Dorian is. _Enough_.

Bull wants to close his eye and throw his head back, but he also wants to see that eager, aching longing on Dorian's face. The intent, the focus, and the emotion. He wants that more, and he wants to show Dorian in return how _deeply_ it affects him. 

Because it goes all the way to his core. The strange intimacy of being touched by what is all but Dorian's own _asala-adaar_ , the magic that courses through him, and the words, the heat behind it… no. Love isn't heat. It's more than that, it's more than _qamek_ running through his veins, but the pain is so, so sweet. It's more than the fiercest battle-fog, and it's a release and a climax of another kind, but one that… doesn't fade at the peak. It just keeps going. 

He'd come from that, even without the surge of magic. He'd come from Dorian's intentions alone, but the rush of sensation that flows through him has him clawing at his lover's shoulders. Has his hips bucking, and it's only because Dorian had the foresight to be ready that means he doesn't throw him off in the throes of his release. Bull _howls_ , and clutches, and rides over the insane feelings, until he's trying to pull back despite himself. 

"Kadan…" He's shuddering, still twitching, still wracked with the fading waves. "…fuck me, please…" 

Fuck, but that's hot to watch. And _feel_ , because Dorian does feel it, all the way through. He manages to stay on top, though it's a challenge because of how strong Bull is, and he has to draw a little strength from his mana in order to make it look, if not flawless, at least not too difficult.

And then the other man is lying there, utterly wrecked, and Dorian adores the sight of him all the more.

"I will," he says, soothingly. "I will. I promise, amatus."

He slowly, carefully slides the staff free and sets it aside; hands going to strip off the last of his clothing. And then he moves himself between Bull's legs, guiding his cock into place and pushing slowly into him.

" _Fuck_ , you feel amazing," he breathes, because he does, and Dorian can practically sense the waves of bliss and release radiating off him. A flick of the hand, and that magical pressure is back, keeping Bull pinned down, even though Dorian is confident the man wouldn't be able to move much if he tried right now.

Bull is no stranger to the moments after, though usually he's made sure his partner (especially since said partner has been _him_ ) is satisfied, first. Feeling warmly fucked up, and lying panting with his belly splattered with his own come… it's oddly… tense. In a good way, but it's almost… transgressive? No. Yes. Something.

He doesn't hold back the noises as Dorian slides into him. After the unyielding brutality of the staff, the firm-but-still-soft cock feels soothing and… alive. Which it is, obviously, but it feels closer. Better. He rocks just at his waist, and lifts his hands to lay the palms flat over Dorian's chest, fingers playing at the jut of his collarbone, or the perk of his nipples.

"I fucking love you. So, so much." His voice gravels over it, still unsound from the lingering drafts of bliss. "So. Fucking. _Good_. ShhhhhIIITTTTTT… you better fill me good, kadan, my ass misses your dick, you know." Much as he adores reaming Dorian, he won't deny he enjoys this position, too. 

Or several others. In fact, at some point or another, most of them. 

"I love you too," Dorian purrs in response, finding the perfect angle and already starting to move faster. "I'm _achingly_ hard from watching you writhe like that. Even when we're this way around, you still destroy me…"

It's clear from his expression, and his tone, that he means in the very best way possible. The _very_ best. It's also clear that drawing this out with finesse and pacing is _not_ what's going to happen tonight, because the suppressed need is blazing inside him now.

He wants. And he wants. And he _needs_. And it's burning in his blood like nothing else ever could, making him move even faster, and even harder, and if he's augmenting his physical stamina with a little mana… well, it's not as though either of them will complain.

"Is this what you want?" Bull asks, his fingers feather-light and his palms shorely planted. "Is this how you want me?" 

And then his fingers find his nipples again, and _twist_. "Or do you want me to throw you down and ride you like the world depends on it, then fuck you open before the come's even dripped out of my ass?" 

If Dorian hadn't been feeling _quite_ so on-top thus far, that would likely have had him begging without even skipping a beat. As it is, he's in control of himself just enough not to go immediately pliant, though he can't hide the reaction in his eyes.

"You _know_ you can't unless I let you," he says. "Not until my mana burns out, at least. _Then_ I wouldn't be able to stop you." He certainly knows how much fun _that_ is. "But part of me _does_ want to let you… because I know how good you'll make it."

He lets the pinning pressure slowly, slowly reduce; a smile on his lips as he does, for the sheer devilment of it. Even though he _is_ letting go. It's all about making sure the mood is set for what comes next.

"True… but you _could_ make it so I couldn't leave your dick before you were satisfied, couldn't you?" Bull's playful again. Not aggressive, just… toying, teasing. "Or you could use your mana to hold yourself back, so I get to ride your _stick_ for as long as it holds out… keep yourself on that edge, as I fight like hell to get you over it…"

His hands go to the small of Dorian's back, to his waist, making sure he's braced enough for what could be a quite sudden jolt. Bull tries to meet the release with even pressure, trading control as easily as places. 

"Until your mana goes… everything is under your control. Even if you're beneath me, and I'm riding your dick. It's all because you _let_ me." 

"Maybe I'll keep some," Dorian says, his expression suddenly intent. "That way… when I tell you I surrender, you'll know I mean it. Because you'll know it's a choice."

Not that he doesn't love it the other way, too. Feeling utterly helpless and knowing he couldn't resist even if he tried is _very_ , very hot. But… he also knows what it means to Bull to see him surrender when he _could_ still resist.

"…Flip me. Just promise you'll let me come before you take over."

Bull's expression is dark, but adoring. "You'll come when you beg me to let you. When you tell me you're ready. When you _need_ me to take full control."

Hand on his lower back, Bull pushes up so he's sitting, so he can grab Dorian's head and pull him in for a kiss, forcing his tongue into his mouth and using the kiss to push him over. 

Over, where he can then brace his knees astride him, and plant his hands on Dorian's shoulders. He knows he's heavy, and bulky, and that it would take more than just human strength to hurl him off. But Dorian _has_ that, so this _is_ a choice. And Bull isn't forcing anything, not one bit. (Not yet.) 

Bull does have the stamina. And the weight. And the strength. He starts to move at speed, arching his back and reading Dorian's face to see where he likes it, where he needs it. 

"Save it… for one last explosion. For us _both_. Save it until you can't, any more. Hold it back, and when you finally let go…" 

He speeds up, huffs of breath with each slam down. Twists of his hips that look strangely surreal on such a large man. "You already gave me everything, that night. You already surrendered to me, under the stars. Under the roof of a tavern. You _belong_ to me… your magic, too. There is nothing left in you to fight me, and no reason to fight. It is a dance… feints, steps… but the music always ends with you still in my arms…" 

" _Yes_ ," Dorian breathes, loving the way that feels. Loving the words, and the attention, and the look in Bull's eye, and the way the pleasure shoots through him with every lift and twist of the other man's hips. "Yours. Always yours. _I love you_."

His hands aren't pinned, so he can reach up and hold on, but it's only for the contact, and the desire to touch back, not anything more. He does hold on, though, and hard, because the need to keep the other man close is so very strong right now.

And it isn't the only need that's overwhelming him.

"Please," he begs, softly. "Please… I need… I need so badly… amatus, please…"

"What do you need, kadan?" Bull asks, his voice breaking a little between the panted breaths and heavy slams. It's nice, and the memory of the explosive magic before is a thrill that still lingers through muscle memory, but he's not ready to come again, not yet, so he can go as rough and long as he (and Dorian) needs. 

"Tell me. Tell me everything. Tell me _everything_." He bends, and plucks up the necklaces with his lips, pulling back to the extent they allow, and arching at the hands that reach for him. This feels so damn good, and it's – it's – he could be chained down and pinned down and fucked with the furniture, but he'd still feel as in control. It's not the position, it's not the penetration… it's the connection, the agreement, and the way they just _fit_. 

Dorian's eyes are dark with bliss as he stares up at Bull, a distinctly pleading air to his expression now.

"I need… need you to make me come, need you to drag me over the edge… and then I need to give myself over to you completely. Need to be _yours_. Need to know that you can and will do anything you want with me. Need… to remember that nothing can stop us. Nothing. Not my past, not yours… not even the end of the world…"

Bull tugs on the chains, then lets them fall. "Not the Qun. Not the Imperium. Not a world full of people clawing to pull us apart. Not a sky full of dragons, or a valley full of demons. Not a rip through the Veil. Not the whole Templar Order. None of them."

He takes Dorian's hands, locking their palms together, lacing fingers tight. And then _crashes_ them down, bruising his knuckles with the sheer ferocity of his movements. "Give it to me. _Give it to me_. Give me your screams, give me your pleasure. Give me your fucking pain and hurt and fear and _love_. Because. You. Are. **MINE**."

The ruts back become fierce enough that both their legs shake, and Bull throws everything he has into making it good. Back arched, clenched as fiercely tight as he can, all his not-inconsiderable power bent on one, solitary outcome. " _Give me everything_ ," he demands, and there's no room for refusal in that tone. 

" _ **Fuck!**_ " Dorian howls, in shock at the sudden ferocity as much as the ferocity itself. But it's a very, very good reaction, and that much is clear in the way he just _gives_ beneath the onslaught, going completely pliant and surrendering without a second thought.

He does still need, though. Badly. But Bull is obviously trying to deal with that, rather than prevent it, which makes it even easier for Dorian to just let go… because the one thing he asked for, he's getting.

And it doesn't take much longer; the suddenly-rough attention dragging him the rest of the way towards the edge he's chasing, and unceremoniously throwing him over… which makes him scream all over again, bucking up as much as he can with the other man holding him down and nigh-on losing his mind as the pleasure rips through him in fierce waves that are almost – almost – too much.

Waves that eventually, mercifully, fade, leaving him to drop back; exhausted and sated and completely – by choice – defenceless.

Bull loves the noises Dorian makes at the best of times, but it feels especially sweet today, as he feels the spurting, hot proof of their mutual pleasure wash him from the inside. He keeps their hands joined, but sits up as much as he can, drawing lazy, sloppy circles with his hips to draw out the coupling for as long as humanly – or Qunly – possible. 

And then he smirks. No. That's wrong. It's a smug smile, but it's infinitely fond, and caring, too. "Mmm." The satisfaction drips from his lips, and he bends to kiss him, light and sweet. "That was good. Wasn't it?" 

He by any means isn't done, but he wants to just bask for a moment or two, to feel the tail end of their first round dry on their skin. "But I think that was the first course. With the bread roll. And the soup."

"Y-yes," Dorian manages, still trying to catch his breath, and revelling in the feeling of being suddenly, gloriously trapped. "It was amazing. _You_ were amazing. And now… now you get to claim your prize…"

There's still so much longing in his eyes, though. Such _need_. Not the rough, desperate need of before, for release, but something deeper. And, at the same time, something just as primal.

"Oh," Bull replies, like a man who has everything he wants out of life, and doesn't feel it makes it any less interesting, "I will."

His knees brace, and Bull drags himself over Dorian's belly, letting his cock slip out and drop behind his ass. Then he slides his ass over his lover's belly for a moment or two, before he's leaning in to speak directly against his ear. "If I take you here, though, I might break your spine on the floor. And my beloved altus deserves the finest, plushest beds I can find… to debauch and debase him through…"

He kneels, and walks up and over him, dragging his balls and lingeringly sticky cock over his chest, then throat, mouth, face. He stands – legs braced either side of Dorian's head – and stretches and makes no small show of it. Twisting at the waist, cracking his back, flexing his upper body, and running his hand over his own throat, so Dorian has a very interesting show indeed. 

Then he paces to Dorian's feet, grabs both ankles, and lifts him by them, so he's strung over his shoulder and down his back. "I have _so_ much to show you, now we have that little display out the window. I'll show you what it's _really_ like to be taken. And you're going to do everything I say, aren't you?"

Fuck, but it's frightening sometimes how strong and sure Bull can be; how he can just let his mind snap into _this_ without the barest pause. It's also a massive turn-on, oh yes, but the two emotions can exist side-by-side. And do. _Intensely_.

"Yes," Dorian gasps, quickly; heart suddenly racing. "Yes, I'll do anything you want… please… I just want to make you happy…"

"Oh, kadan, you _do_. You do. I'm going to show you how much." 

Bull tugs so Dorian bounces up, then drops him to land safely on the bed. He acts as if Dorian weighs next to nothing, but he has full control over where he lands and how he does, then he stands beside the bed, head tilted to admire him. 

"If you were Qunari, you'd be tall, but not as tall as me," he says, as his hands move to glide over Dorian's shoulders, and ease one arm then the other out, so his fingers curl over the sides of the bed. "But I like that you're not. I like being able to lift you over my shoulder. I like how _strong_ you are, and how, mmmm, masculine… but still so elegant, too… Delicate and deadly… a honed knife-blade, not a brutal warhammer." 

Bull puts his hand under Dorian's head, turning it this way and that, paying close attention to every angle. "Your face… it's the finest sculpture, but it comes _alive_ when you feel things… and I love how **strongly** you feel those things… I could watch your face all day and still see new things to love, every single time… The way your lips twist over something that made you laugh, or the sheer outrage you can display without a single word… That glint you get when you've had a wicked idea… and the softness after I've made you cry, but good cry…"

The attention – especially when he'd expected something else – makes Dorian feel odd. He _likes_ it, of course he does, he always likes attention, especially when it comes with praise, but it's different when it's Bull. Perhaps it's because he believes what the other man says, right down to his core, rather than just on a superficial level. So much of social interaction is on a superficial level, and Dorian had gotten so used to it being _just_ that, and he still feels a little odd when something reminds him it isn't anymore.

But not in a bad way. Just… in a way that makes his skin prickle under the words, wanting to _be_ everything Bull sees; again, not superficially, but truly.

"I'm glad you approve," he says, but it's soft and heartfelt, not flippant or arrogant. "I want to be everything you need. Because… you're everything _I_ need."

"You _are_. And I will tell you so." 

Bull lets his fingers wander over warm skin, murmuring in pleasure, as he moves to stretch his lover's legs so he's splayed spread-eagle over the mattress. He openly gives his own cock a lazy stroke, bouncing it in his palm, and then moves to kneel between those spread thighs. 

"I love to see you like this. Already sated, but still so needy. Open and ready and willing for anything I might want. Offering me your heart, as much as your body. Makes me hard just thinking about the way your ankles and wrists brush the sheets as you surrender to my whims." He ghosts his hands over Dorian's hips, over the outsides of his thighs. "I don't need to tie you down, even though I like to do it. I don't need to chain you up. You look beautiful like that, with your skin tugged, pushed, pressed… straining… but you look good like this, too: knowing that the only thing that keeps you where I want you is my voice, and your heart."

He places his palms over the tops of Dorian's thighs, sure, firm strokes up and down, only affecting his groin by association. "I am going to take you. And I am going to take you hard. But I am going to do it when I'm ready, and you will simply have to wait, and stay under, until I feel it's time to claim you again. Do you understand?" 

Dorian gives a shaky nod. "Yes," he says, trying to make it clear in that one word how much he means it. How much he's trying to be everything the other man needs. And… everything _he_ needs too. Because he does need this, and want this, but that doesn't make it easy to do. Just _worthwhile_.

He certainly doesn't move, staying where he's put and staring up at Bull, watching the way he moves, the way he looks at the man beneath him. Losing himself in the moment, in the feeling, in the _need_ that runs through his blood; not (yet) hot again with frenzy, but still very much undeniable.

Bull leans forwards, and offers his middle finger to Dorian's lips. "Suck it like it's my dick you're sucking. Show me what your mouth can do. Get it good and wet." 

His head is… focused, now. Intent, and honed in. This is right, and good, and what should be. Every thought and breath dedicated to giving Dorian what he needs, which is what he needs, too. It fits – they fit – so perfectly together, and it makes things slot into place that this works. That it makes them both feel right. 

"Look at me while you do it. Show me what I'd see if I put my cock on your lips right now. I know you love to suck. I know you love to show off. Make it good, kadan. Make me feel it in my balls."

Now that, Dorian can definitely do, but there's no smugness in his eyes as he nods again. "Yes," he breathes. " _Anything_."

And he parts his lips, tongue darting out to tease at Bull's finger as he draws him in; taking him slow and careful but with the promise of more, just as if it _was_ the other man's cock. Though the fact it isn't, and the difference in position, makes it easier to meet Bull's eye as he works, and his own are so very vulnerable right now. But it's not the bad kind of vulnerability, oh no. This is open, and willing; offering up all he has and all he is, and hoping it's enough.

He lets the finger slide deeper – as deep as he can – and then speeds up, trying to make this look as impressive as possible. Trying to demonstrate just how good he can make it, when he gives it his all.

It definitely sends a stir to Bull's loins, though he's not desperate to rush things. No, it is good to take time and savour. To see how deep inside himself Dorian can go, too. He cups his cheek, then brushes over his cheekbone, smiling very, very adoringly down at the man below him.

"Good, so good. You like that, don't you? You like to show off. You like to know you can make me come as hard as I do. So difficult not to just fuck your mouth to feel the moans, because your ass is so, so sweet, too. Love to feel you work over my dick… you make me come so hard it _aches_."

Bull lets his free hand roam, caressing and soothing, soft murmurs of praise and affection, enjoying the steady build up in his lap. "You'd do anything I asked, wouldn't you? Do you know how that makes me feel? How happy I am? And how I want to protect you, cherish you, _sate_ you?"

He tugs that finger free. 

"Put your feet down, and lift your ass for me. Make it dance. Show me how much it craves this."

" _Yes_ ," Dorian breathes, fervent, when he can. "Yes. _Anything_. I w-want to make you happy. _Need_ to."

He does. And it's a need that's burning hotter and hotter inside him; stronger even than any kind of physical need. Which is, of course, saying something.

Obeying the order takes him a moment, not because of any kind of resistance, but simply because his whole body feels like lead under the weight of the other man's will (and, let's be honest, his not-wholly-smart idea to do round one on a hardwood floor). He manages it, though, and rolls his hips over and over in what he hopes is another suggestive display of what he'd like to be doing to Bull's cock.

"Such a pretty, tight ass. Mmmm. You feel so good on my dick, kadan. So, so good." He puts the spit-slick finger on the crease between his nuts, then strokes firmly down and under, running slow, slow circles around the rim. "This… is mine. And what's mine, I take care of." 

But it's just that finger, stroking, stroking, gliding. He runs over the already-flush and plump ring, and then walks back on his knees. "Don't move your hands. Stay open for me. I need you ready to take my cock, when it's time." He drops his head, and pushes Dorian's cock where he wants it to lap and lick at his balls. Still circling, and no more. 

"Anything," Dorian whispers, his mind sinking deeper and deeper into the black. "Anything… please… please… _oh_ …"

The renewed attention, even light, sends a shiver running through him, and his hands clench and unclench in response, though don't move otherwise. And he feels suddenly cold, even though the room is still quite decently warm, given the circumstances.

"…please…" he murmurs again, and it's clear the words are just slipping out now, without any real conscious choice behind them. "…please… I'm yours…"

Bull smiles, and turns his head to kiss the inside of his thigh. "Yes, yes you are. You're mine, and I'll give you what you need. What you _really_ need."

His hands move, under Dorian's buttocks, lifting him up to rest solely on his shoulders. He shuffles in closer, and then uses his tongue between the crease of his cheeks. Licks from behind his hole, over, and up to flick at his balls. He repeats the gesture, pressing that little bit more firmly each time, until the tip of his tongue pops in past the gentle resistance. And in. And in. Slowly penetrating him with a speared tongue that widens, forcing his body to accommodate. 

Bull loves to do this, because it's such a pleasurable act to receive, and because it means when he does fuck him, Dorian will be utterly open and ready. He loves the scent of his musk, and the feel of balls on his nose, and he loves the way his lover responds. He wants to make him feel incredible and overwhelmed, and he wants to map and claim every inch of him. He glances over to watch his reactions, then reaches around to take hold of Dorian's dick and lazily start to tug it. 

It feels incredible. So very incredible. Even more so because Dorian's already come once, so he's not quite as wound-up as he would be the first time, and more able to just let himself enjoy this. And his mind, sinking deeper and deeper, is lost in the sensations, in the attention, in the will of the other man.

And part of him – that dark, traitorous part – still thinks he doesn't quite deserve any of it, but he's given himself over to Bull completely, and Bull has still chosen to do it. So… he must deserve it, on some level, and that soothes the lingering shadows inside.

"…yes… yes…" Dorian keeps whispering, arching up into the attention but not trying to rush or push. "…please… love you… please… _ohyes_ …"

There's no rush needed, and Dorian's cock is responding, but not too furiously. So Bull treats him to his fist and a gradual, twisting motion to pique his interest steadily. He scratches the stubble of his cheeks against tender skin, and whorls his tongue in lazy, sure circles. It feels like hours he's licking, even though it can't be, and he doesn't slow until it feels like Dorian's restless in his hand. 

Then Bull lifts to kiss his balls, and pushes a finger in as he speaks. "Does that feel good, kadan?" 

"…Y-yes… _yes_ … so good… so good I feel… I… feel…"

Dorian is trying to speak. He really is. Speaking is what he _does_. Well. Speaking, magic, excellent taste, and apparently surrendering to this powerhouse of a man who is currently reducing him to blissful incoherence without the slightest bit of difficulty. And that last one is overruling the first one right now, and the more it does, the more Dorian sinks.

Bull reaches to get the small vial of oil he favours, and taps Dorian's face. "Warm this up, kadan. Open wide."

When he does, he pushes the base of the bottle into his mouth so the heat makes it more pleasant. And also because he loves seeing the man with his mouth full. Bull lets go of his cock, and then uses both hands to run the oil over two fingers. 

"I'm only using two. I like it when you're still that little bit snug when I push in. I love feeling too big for you, without hurting you. And I think you like it, too?"

He pushes both in, gradually but unerringly, all the way to his palm. Flicks them back and forth against each other, stimulating his rim and massaging him inside. "You see how I can control you, with nothing but my voice, my hands, my mouth? That magic still swirling inside of you, but there's no need to fight, or show off, or beg for my attention, affection, or praise?" 

"I do," Dorian breathes, his eyes rolling back. "I _love_ it… love you… do anything you want… _anything_ …"

He's completely lost in it now, drifting on waves of pleasure, and even as it builds, he doesn't try to chase anything further. He just luxuriates in it, wanting the feeling to go on as long as possible. Wanting to be everything Bull needs, and so much more.

"…please… please… I'm yours, all yours… please…"

Bull works his body ready, back to glancing touches over his cock, then his belly, his hip. Not too long in one place, just relishing the way he arches, pushes, sways. "Use your magic… not all of it. Show me those lights I love. Show me how you _feel_." 

The fingers withdraw, and Bull holds his hips, moving to push his balls into his lover's, sliding thrusts that rub their shafts together between them. "Don't use it all, but let me watch you fall apart."

Dorian can do that. He can. It takes more concentration than usual, but he's so desperate to please that the request… instruction… order… whatever the words are, gets through the mental fog after a moment.

He doesn't need to move in the slightest, but instinct makes his hands turn so his palms are up, and then the air all around them floods with a swarm of those soft, glittering lights; hanging in the dimness like lazy fireflies at dusk. To start off with, they're every colour you could think of, and every hue; a great swathe of vibrancy, but slowly, slowly they start to shift, the colours blending until they're all either blue-green or shimmering pink.

And with every movement Bull makes, the colours shift more; the pink spiralling around the blue, but never diminishing it, until the air is a vast dance between the two.

Dorian blinks up at it, and then at Bull, and he smiles distantly.

"Is that how you see us?" Bull knows, but he wants to hear – or see – the confirmation. It really is very, very beautiful, and intricate, and… it just hurts, but in all the good ways. He keeps the slow grind up, his dick rubbing alongside Dorian's, urging both of their arousal higher. "It's almost as beautiful as you are, kadan. Almost as precious."

He pulls the mage's legs wider, urging them around his waist, and taking hold of his own shaft, pushing the tip to his rim, and teasing at the slickness waiting for him. "I want you to watch as I claim you. I want you to watch, and see how happy it makes me. How I adore you. How my heart rends and my blood burns to give you everything you could ever need, and take everything you give to me. How honoured I am when you yield. How _right_ this is. Can you do that for me? Can you watch to see how you complete me, as I complete you?"

" _Yes_ ," Dorian breathes, staring up at him, haloed by the dancing lights. "Yes. Us. You're… _everything_. All I need."

He tries to wrap his legs tightly in place, but there's so little strength left in him that it isn't easy, and he just tries to hold on as best he can.

"…love you too," he gasps, his voice cracking from the weight of the emotion. " _Adore_ you too. I mean it. Yours. _Anything_."

"Damn right you are. And damn right that I fucking love you with all I am." Bull runs his thumb over the jut of one hip-bone. "Gonna make it all better, my pretty, pretty, smart-ass, wonderful Vint mage of a heartbreaker. Gonna make it feel good."

Holding him just right, Bull thrusts shallowly in, past that first, minor resistance. Dorian's pliant enough that it works, but prepared and slick only just enough. It's a tight, tight grip and Bull's chest reverberates with the snug, delicate way they slot together. 

"Oh, yeah. That's right. Push down for me, kadan. Show me what you got, and I'll show you what I got for you." Rather than move himself, he puts both hands on Dorian's hips, using him, guiding him deeper, then out, then deeper again. It's not fast, but it wouldn't be wise to go too fast, when he's deliberately making it a little rougher. "Open up. Take it all. Let me all the way inside you."

" _Yours!_ " Dorian echoes, but it's a ragged cry this time, the penetration making him flood with renewed need, though no less surrender. "Yours… please… take everything… everything… please… I need, I need, I need… _ohfuck_ …"

The craving is in his blood, now; white-hot and undiminished, and it makes all the sparkling lights flare and swirl as if in silent pleading for _more_.

As soon as he feels Dorian working with him – consciously or not – Bull redoubles his efforts. First he's dragging him up and onto himself, using him like hauling him around is next to no effort. In reality, it isn't quite so easy, but he makes it look it. And the need that's spiking furiously has any effort worth it. 

"Fuck yeah, that's right. So good… nnngh. But I need more."

Bull drags him off his cock, and rolls him forcibly onto his belly. He doesn't give Dorian enough time to think about it before he's on top of him again, this time with an arm wrapped around his shoulders and under his head, pillowing it and holding him in place. Which means when he thrusts up and in, he's held securely as Bull starts to fuck him with nigh-on angry slams of his hips. "That's right. You couldn't shake me off, even if you wanted to. I've got you in my arms, in my bed, and -- gnnnh -- on my dick. Does yours ache yet, kadan? Are you gonna come into the sheets and sleep in the mess you make?" He licks at his throat, wondering where he wants to mark him. Where it will look the best. "Are you gonna wear the mark I give you with pride?" 

"Y-yes," Dorian gasps, wrecked and helpless and still burning with _need_. "I'm yours… _please_ … mark me… s-so everyone knows…"

They'll know, but they won't understand. Not unless they have something like this, something so intense the realisation of it leaves them reeling, the way Dorian feels right now. The lights floating above them sputter and fade as his magical control shatters completely, and he's so completely overwhelmed that all he can do is accept it, and hope it isn't wrong, and keep _taking_ until any lingering semblance of coherence is long gone.

"They'll know. They'll see your mark on me, and mine on you. They'll see the ring around your finger, proclaiming you as _taken_." Taken, but not like a slave is. Willing, and joyful, and eager. Bull's growl gets lower, his movements more feral and brutal as he chases their satisfaction. 

"They'll see the proof hanging around our necks. But more than that? They'll see the way I look at you, and you at me. The way you lean subtly towards me, or spread your legs that bit wider when you sit. They'll see the flush in your cheeks, the darkness in your eyes. The way you lick your lips when you're not thinking. They'll see the way your movements mirror mine… and they'll hear with every quarrel or agreement. They'll hear that tone that says you're _wanted_ and _wanting_. And they'll see how my eye follows you, wherever you go. How my breath catches, when a stray memory hits me. How my fingers itch just to brush against you…"

Alright, so probably only another member of the Ben-Hassrath would see even part of that, but that doesn't matter. Bull knows it. 

"When they look at us, they'll see shadows of all the things we are, but they'll never see the real light that casts them. It isn't for them. It's for **us**. You are for **me**. And you are. _Everything_." 

Bull pushes Dorian's head to one side, his mouth sealing right on the curve of his throat and _sucking_ as fiercely as he can, intent on marking his lover as blatantly and visibly as he is able to. As much for Dorian's and his own benefit as for anyone else to see. He _likes_ the idea of traces of this dancing over his skin like _vitaar_. Poison to some, armour for them. He slams him into the bed until it creaks in protest, not built to withstand a reaver's intensity. 

"… _fuck!_ " Dorian cries, sounding as though just getting the word out is a challenge. Because it is. He has no real idea where anything starts or ends right now; it's all just sensation, and emotion, and want, and need, tangled into a vast fog.

But he's close. So very, very close. And distantly aware that coming without permission might be a deeply bad thing indeed.

"…please," he gasps, trying to pull the words to the surface. "Please… so close… I need… _amatus_ , please…"

Bull gives just enough room so he can put his fist below Dorian's hips, coiling his hand around his cock so he's fucked into it. He grips firmly, and the very slight change in angle has the head of his cock rubbing that little bit firmer. It's electric and violent, but in an eager, sky-about-to-break way. "That's right," he says, as he lifts from the darkening bruise that forms on Dorian's neck. "You're going to give that last spark up, aren't you? The one you've kept for us. Right when I give you all the power I have. Aren't you, kadan?"

He knows he will. Especially now he's reminded him. Bull pushes his cheek against Dorian's, so their lips only touch at the corner, and so he is as close to him as he could be, around, beneath, and within. He _feels_ close. Not just to climax, or to his body, but to the thing-that-Dorian-is, underneath it all. And it's precious, and wonderful, and the best thing in the whole world. 

"Wait until we hit it… and then drag it out until you're spent of everything, kadan. Join your strength to mine." 

A solid, targeted twist of his closed fist, and then Bull jackhammers into him, his hips snapping and his breath breaking. He can't hold out much more, not with the feel of his beautiful, yielding lover and the sounds he makes… " _Katoh_ , kadan. Come with me." 

Dorian doesn't need telling twice. Indeed, only the desperate urge to obey makes him need telling once, and the instant he processes the words, he explodes with bliss; howling a single cry of release that snaps his mind so violently, it silences anything more, and he's just shaking in the other man's grasp as the climax burns through him.

It's so intense, he almost doesn't want to use his magic to draw it out longer. Almost. And maybe if the choice was his, he'd decide not to, but it isn't, and so he doesn't hesitate. There's not as much mana left in him as he'd like, because he feels like everything he is has been fucked deep into the Fade, but he manages to draw it up just as the waves of pleasure start to abate, and flares out with all he has remaining.

And then _screams_ again at the way it feels in his blissfully tortured body; arching back against Bull until the magic sputters out of him… and then _collapsing_ , barely able to do anything except draw ragged breath.

The first rush is good. Good, good… more than good. Bull sinks his teeth into Dorian's earlobe to siphon off some of the noise he's making, feeling the vital rush of fluids pump into his lover, filling him and bathing them both with evidence of his satisfaction.

It's damn, damn good. But then it isn't stopping, and the magic that courses through him makes him let go of the ear and _bellow_ , low and victorious and overwrought and _gleeful_. It's the kind of intensity that makes you forget the outside world for a moment, and all you can process is the sensations and emotions, and the juddering form that envelops him and yields to him and greets him and wants him. 

"THAT'S right! That's it… oh _fuck_ but you're good at that… _fuck_." 

Bull's limbs don't want to do the upright thing any more, so he lets himself slip down so the only thing really taking his weight is the man beneath him, and he pulls his arms and legs tighter around him, nosing and kissing at his neck. "So good for me, kadan. You blow my damn brains out. Mmm. Nnnnhhh. Yeah… I got nothing…"

Dorian tries to reply, but Dorian and words exist on different continents right now, and all he manages is a little murmur of soul-deep happiness. There's no doubting it, though; no doubting that he's utterly joyful, and wants nothing more than to simply lie here in Bull's arms.

The world is quiet, when he does. Everything is quiet. And that's a relief and a gift, all at once.

Bull grins. "Can't crush you to death… I'll move us, before I sleep. But I think you can handle this a little while longer." He'll roll them to their sides to spoon him, when his heartrate slows enough. But for the moment he just wants to snuggle like this, with his weight pinning Dorian beneath him. 

"You… you should know… nothing could ever have come close. Even if someone took your magic away, there'd still be no one able to make me feel a fraction of what you do. You… I just need you to know that. Need you to know that you're all I could ever, ever want."

It just feels so damn good, to slowly drift like this, feeling loved and happy and wanted so very, very much. He hides his face in the crook of the mage's neck. "I've travelled all of Thedas, and you're the only one who ever… it's you. I fucking love you. And I love fucking you. And I'm gonna do everything I possibly can to make you feel like this all the time. Because you're worth _everything_ to this dumb, old merc. You're… I just… I do. I do." 

He knows Dorian is too far gone for conversation, but he wants to slide the words in when he can't back-chat or equivocate. When he can't argue, or quibble. When all he can do is take it, and let it percolate through. 

"I fucking do."

Dorian can't respond, it's true. He manages another little murmur, but that's all, though the smile on his face is very, very audible in it.

He wants to say more. He wants to say he understands. That he's still overwhelmed and astonished by all this; by being _enough_ , by the knowledge that he'd continue to be enough even without his magic. That it's _him_ Bull loves, despite his foibles and failings and eccentricities. Maybe in part because of them.

He's never had this before. Nothing even remotely close. And although he's told Bull that, sometimes he feels like it needs saying again, because the feeling is so huge and all-encompassing. And for the first time in forever, he is _complete_.

When he thinks it's time (before bits of Dorian go too numb), Bull carefully navigates them both to their sides, so he can curl up over his back and drape an arm over his waist. He puts his head high up on the bed, so he can rest his horn through the slats in the headboard, and takes a deep, deep breath in to smell his hair. 

"I'll look after you. You can sleep, now. We've got some hard riding to do, and I don't just mean me on your ass." Which he playfully slaps, but only very lightly. 

And then he grabs for the covers they kicked down, using toes and fingers to pull it up enough to wrap around Dorian. Bull might cover his back, but he doesn't want him feeling chilly anywhere else. Plus, it's nice. 

"Rest with me… sleep with me… that world needs saving so you can move me in to your fancy town houses, remember? Better have chairs that fit my ass… huge bath… bigger bed… place for all the weapons I collect… mmmm." He's drifting, imagining a bizarre fusion between two very distinct cultures, when it comes to interior decorating. It's a nice thing to fall asleep to, while you're snuggling a contented intended. Very nice thing indeed.

"…think we should have a pastry chef in residence," he mumbles, as his mind slips. "…two."


	27. Chapter 27

It's raining in Ferelden. Or, certainly in the Coastlands, at least. Dorian was not impressed when he woke up to discover the downpour, but he's even less impressed by the fact it's continued steadily all day.

And it's _cold_ rain. As if there could even be another type in this southern nightmare.

It doesn't stop them making reasonable progress along the North Road, though, and the inclemency of the weather reduces the number of wandering wild animals. And, indeed, other travellers full-stop, which reduces the looks they tend to attract whenever they pass people.

And there's flashes of light in the distant sky, which probably means a full-on storm is incoming. Lovely. The only saving grace is that Dorian is no longer enduring weather like this whilst on a boat, and that's something he's grateful for every single second.

"…I'm not enjoying this," he points out nonetheless, not for the first time today.

"And you still don't have any suggestion on _how_ to change that," Krem replies, sounding relatively grumpy. Alright, very grumpy.

"No one said saving the world would be just shits and giggles," Bull counters. "And we had plenty of giggles last night. Didn't we, 'son'?"

Krem bares his teeth in a growl. "I was making sure Buckles didn't run off."

"And you did a grand job of it. For which we're all grateful."

"If you were, you wouldn't talk so loud."

Bull throws his head back in a laugh. "You pampered Vints. You want warm, and soft, and quiet? What are you waiting for? Dragon bellies have all of those things!"

"There is nothing wrong with wanting to be warm and comfortable," Dorian points out. "Or with wanting a little _consideration_ when you're hungover."

He's aware that Krem is rather _more_ hungover this time, and part of him feels a little bad about that, because the man was trying to help him. And yes, he succeeded, and also he's an adult and can make his own choices, but… still. Dorian doesn't like other people suffering on his behalf.

"Poor Krem. He does a good deed, and this is the thanks he gets."

Dorian is not stirring things up. He is not. He's just… supporting a fellow Tevinter. If nothing else, it's an excellent distraction from how much he himself still aches… not because he regrets the cause, but because it makes him want to do it again.

"Does he want a medal? I already said I'd buy a keg at the next place…" Bull shakes his head, and yes, he knows he's making Krem queasy. Which is why he walks his horse up to bump against his Lieutenant's. "You did good, kid. I'll make sure we get some of that pie you like, alright?"

"Chief!"

"When you're ready to eat it!"

"…thanks." 

Stitches makes an annoyed sound. "Well, no one's giving me any pie."

"You didn't deserve any pie," Bull retorts. "But Krem might share."

"No. My pie."

"…then you'll have to earn it. Maybe be nice to our northern friends, Stitches. I'm sure you could do something that would curry their favour."

"Our favour is a good thing to have," Dorian points out. "And you're still in trouble over that incident with the pudding…"

"Hey, no one made you eat it," Skinner cuts across, in defence of her teammate. "In fact, I recall you swallowing it down _very_ eagerly, almost like–"

She's cut-off in mid-sentence by a very alarming rumble from up ahead… in the same direction as Dorian saw what he thought was lightning. And, come to think of it, lightning isn't usually quite so _green_ , and…

" _Fasta vass_ ," he hisses, pulling his horse to a halt and holding up a hand. "There, just off beyond that little farmstead, you see it? I thought it was lightning before."

"Unless Ferelden's changed since I was last here, lightning isn't… normally that colour," Bull replies, with deep dissatisfaction. "I'm guessing this isn't something you were studying? Magical weather colours? If you're gonna get wet, do it in style?"

"…ah, no," Dorian manages. "No, we were not studying magical weather. That… isn't weather."

His stomach sinks. This is the last thing they need.

"…that is a Fade rift. A rip in the Veil. It must be a side-effect of whatever's happened in the Frostbacks. It… they…"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"…demons can get through them. Demons _do_ get through them. And they're extremely difficult to close. Even a Rift Mage would find it challenging, and I'm not one. I did study under one, though. And…"

_Fuck_.

"…we have to do something about it."

The next growl contains a lot of words which are barely intelligible and very rude. Then Bull straightens. And tries not to let the fact his spine is more rigid than his dick regularly is be that visible. 

He. Fucking. _Hates_ demons.

"…what do we do, kadan?" His voice is clipped, as if part of the tones are just… not there. 

"Can… can we even fight multiple demons? Won't – don't they try to turn you?" Krem asks Dorian. 

"They might," Dorian concedes. "I'm well-trained in defending myself, but they don't know that, and they'll be drawn to my magic. But they can be killed, just like anything here. When they cross over in their own forms, they become flesh and blood. It just doesn't last if they try to stay without… without possessing a mage."

Fuck. Fuck, but he doesn't want to do this. He's not _frightened_ of demons, per se… but he is afraid of what they offer him.

He takes a deep breath. "If we don't do something, that rift will grow, and more demons will spill out of it, and they'll attack anyone they see. I don't know for sure that I can close it, but… but if I take enough lyrium, I might stand a chance."

He's taken far more lyrium of late than he would like. Far more. And the risk of one of the doses leaving him with a round of bad side-effects is getting more and more probable, because so far he's been lucky. But… doesn't say so, because this is their only option.

"What do you need us to do?" Bull asks. "And… what… what if you can't close it?"

Which he shouldn't ask. Because Dorian is amazing so of course he can, but also… he has to. He doesn't run from fights, but what if this one is just… too much and they could be more use (and alive) elsewhere, and it's _demons_ and it's _Dorian_ and… 

"I think we stab shit," Krem surmises. "Stitches, you want on my good side for pie? Stab a lot of shit."

"Don't need to tell me twice."

"…if I can't close it, then we kill everything we can, and then we run," Dorian answers, deathly serious. "And… if I say run, you all have to listen to me. This time. Because… if I can't close it, it won't stop, and me just _being_ there will attract more demons, and…"

Stop. Breathe. Try not to let on quite how nervous you are.

"…and we don't want that. But it may be possible. Which is why I have to try. We have to take down the demons first, though. It will be much easier to close if they're not still around, because their very presence pulls on the Veil. So… you all kill them, and I'll try everything I can to weaken the rift, and get it to a point where I can close it."

Bull isn't sure where his head is, but it absolutely isn't here. It's like suddenly there's no emotion again, those Orlesian blinds coming down for altogether different reasons. 

Academically, he understands. But it's all academic. Like a golem, able to move and speak and act, but with that spark just… gone. 

Fucking.

Demons.

"I will kill every last one of them," he says, unaware how off his voice is, how distant and detached. "I will rip their heads off and use them to beat the next one to death. Everything will be fine." 

"Chief?"

"Don't listen to anything they say. Just listen to Dorian. And keep him up. If you have to choose who, choose him. He's the only one that can close it." 

Bull should probably wait, but there is no such word in his vocabulary right now. The only thing he can think of is killing demons, and just… pretending they are empty sacks of meat, and nothing more. If he lets them see how terrified he is, it… he has to act, before he's paralysed, and he spurs his horse before anyone can say otherwise. 

"…Chargers!" Krem calls, a rallying cry as he pulls his own horse to readiness. "Move out!"

" _Kaffas_ ," Dorian mutters, to himself, and spurs his horse on too.

They hurtle across the wet fields, through the still-falling rain, towards the light up ahead. As they draw closer, Dorian can see the rift more clearly: an angry, rippling green tear in the fabric of the world. And, on the ground beneath it… there they are, more visible now the Chargers are getting closer.

Demons. Several twisted, hulking shades, two tall, spindly terror demons, and the huge, angrily-glowing form of a rage demon.

Could be better. Could be worse. Dorian tries not to think about the alternatives, because he needs to focus. And… to protect everyone as best he can. He doesn't like riding at speed without both hands on the reins, because it makes him feel like he might fall off, but he needs to get a protective spell in whilst everyone is still close together, and in range.

One hand up, glowing in the late-afternoon murk, and a wash of bright light briefly envelops the Chargers: a barrier, for as much protection as it can offer. And then he reaches for his staff, to start attacking the demons as soon as he's in range. But he's going to have to get closer, far closer than usual, if he wants to attempt to close that rift.

Demons, it turns out, are as susceptible to cleaving and puncturing weapons as anything else the Chargers have fought in the past. Bull notes with some distant satisfaction as he slices through limbs that make his skin crawl, and splatters stuff he doesn't care to inspect too closely. 

He can't hear anyone at all. He's tuned everything out (and if he knew, it would terrify him to realise), and the only thing he can 'hear' is the reverberations of solid matter his axe hits that travel through his wrists, or the sensation-awareness of things all around him. 

Something gets close, and Bull thrusts the blade under what passes for a jaw. Slices nearly clean off, and the fact it lollops off to one side and doesn't fly free is infinitely disappointing. 

He feels claw-like blades slash against his side, and turns to deal with that, then makes the mistake of looking to see… to see… _Dorian_.

Dorian has ridden as close as he dares, then leapt off his horse and slapped it into a retreat (because it's much harder to stop the poor thing getting eaten if he's no longer on top of it). And now, trying to stay clear of the demons, he's concentrating on the rift.

Which is not easy, because the air is heavy with otherworldly shrieks, and the sounds of people he cares about – in one case, above all others – fighting these hideous creatures. He knows they're doing it for him. Not _just_ for him, because they're not the sort to just leave the locals to get attacked, but still, they're taking a huge risk on his word.

And… fuck, but for one moment, he wishes Alexius was here. There's no one in the world he knows who's better at Fade-related magic than he is. But… he isn't, he isn't, and Dorian has to do this himself. Has to _believe_ he can do this himself.

The sentiment is almost twee. But it's all he has.

Well. Almost all he has. He pulls a vial of lyrium from his belt, slips off the cap, and downs it. Then… he swears, takes out a second, and downs that too.

His blood burns hot, and he can feel the _potential_ surging through him like wildfire. Staff raised in one hand – in front, this time, not behind – he reaches out and lets the magic surge through him, before launching it out towards the rift in a searing burst of light. And all of reality seems to _judder_ as that light hits the rift; Dorian struggling to keep it going, trying to force the Veil back together.

It is not easy. And it's starting to attract the demons; several more manifesting in bursts of light and moving in his direction.

"…a little help!" he shouts, trying not to sound too frantic, because he can't attack the rift _and_ the demons at the same time.

Bull might not process the words, but he understands. Behind him, Krem barks at the others to hold ground at the opening, taking out the surge there as well as they can. Bull doesn't know, because the only thing he can see is the bright inferno of power that whips around his mage, and all the hideous creatures that are drawn to him.

No.

No one gets to hurt him. No one. Especially not a bunch of shitty demons.

He's less a sprinter and more an endurance, long-distance runner, but when he's pushed, he can get up to speed rapidly. Bull smacks into one probably-spine, roaring in challenge, determined to take the aggravation by making himself as much of a target as possible. As much of a _threat_ as possible.

(He'd be terrified, if he could be. But he's not. All he can see is angles and lines and weak spots and the arc of his weapon before it moves…)

Bull sweeps at one's feet, and headbutts another, and tells them in no uncertain terms what effluvia they should eat. 

Dorian only has a second to process how magnificent Bull looks right now, fighting with such glorious focus, because his own attention has to stay on what he's doing. The rift is still blazing strongly, resonating as it resists his attempts to force it shut, over and over, and fuck, but he wishes he was better trained for this.

There's a horrific shriek, and one of the terror demons seems to erupt from midair nearby, brandishing its long, spindly claws and launching at him. Dorian only has a second to react, and he's got no choice in the matter; dropping his current attempt to close the rift and bringing his staff around. Bright spirit energy charges along it, and then slams forward into the demon, flooring the creature in a single – if very intense – blow.

He advances on it quickly – knowing it will just get back up and attack him again if he doesn't deal with it – whilst letting more spirit energy flood along his staff, which he flicks and spins so he's holding it upright. The glowing magic pools down into the bottom end, forming into a very focused point of _pressure_.

Most of Dorian's magic has multiple applications. Which is to say, he can use it for fun, or for not fun. He can make it feel rounded and smooth… or sharp as a blade. He stands over the demon and stabs downwards with his staff, the ethereal light on the end now as hard as metal as it hits the demon squarely in the chest, spattering them both with what is hopefully blood.

"And _stay_ down!" he growls at it. "I'm _busy!_ "

"Tell me you got this," Bull manages to force out, not even able to enjoy the sight of Dorian in full, deadly fury. If it weren't demons, sure. But it is. "I'll fucking nut the Veil back together with my horns if you need me to."

Although it is physically very satisfying to crush and crunch through… well, some of it feels more like armour than it has any right to, when the demons are clearly _not_ wearing anything. A slam to the ground, making it shake, and he roars defiantly at his next target.

"I've got this," Dorian calls back. He doesn't actually know if he has, but he _does_ know he has to look as confident as possible, because he's not calling a retreat unless he's _sure_ he can't do it.

And he can do it. He can. He is _Dorian **fucking** Pavus_, and he's not letting demons run amok just because shutting a Fade rift is _hard_.

Staff up, he launches another burst of magic at the rift, trying once again to get it under control, but the more he pushes, the more the thing seems to _push back_ , and it's like struggling against a tide that matches everything he does, and…

…and he remembers something Gereon said once. _'The Veil isn't solid and immutable. If it was, we wouldn't name it after something soft and pliant. We'd call it the Wall. Don't fight it. Work with it. **Weave** with it'._

So Dorian changes tack, no longer trying to overwhelm the rift, but instead trying to warp the Veil around it, like he's scooping up water, over and over, or drawing fabric together, or… it's hard to come up with a truly accurate metaphor for it, because his mind is a little busy.

But, fuck. It's working. The rift is shrinking visibly now, not so much shuddering as _shimmering_ as it draws back into itself; back and back and back and…

…and it's gone, in one last burst of light.

Dorian stares at the open air where the rift was, breaking into slightly hysterical but very relieved laughter… and how long has that distant song been on the breeze..?

He falls almost gracefully to his knees and then slumps sideways, completely unconscious before his head hits the wet grass.

Bull doesn't even process that the rift is gone. It's immaterial, right now. He's dropped his axe, down on his own knees, grabbing the space Dorian just was… then dragging him into his lap, into his chest. 

"Kadan? **Kadan**?! Fuck… for the love of everything, _somebody help him_!"

***

Dorian wakes up, face-down on cold stone. Or… what feels like cold stone. For a second, he's not sure what's going on, and then his mind catches up with him.

_Kaffas. **Kaffas**_.

He took lyrium. A lot of lyrium. Double what he would normally allow himself in a crisis. And then he wrestled with a Fade rift, and didn't focus on keeping his mind clear, and now…

…now he's Fadewalking. Consciously. Not asleep. It feels as real as… well, _reality_ , even though Dorian knows it's only his mind that's actually here.

But it is here. And this, this whole situation, this is why he doesn't take lyrium unless he has to. Well, this and the fact he has an addictive personality and no matter what people think of wine, it's _much_ safer than developing a dependency on _lyrium_.

_"…who's to say you're **not** dependent?"_ comes a voice on the air, resonant and deep.

Dorian scrambles to his feet, hands up and ready to spellcast, looking for the source of the voice. He's in some part of the Raw Fade; the ground rocky and rough, like a cavern with no roof. Up above, in the distant, yellow-green sky, the Black City hangs, so very far out of reach.

Where it can stay.

"Who's there?" he calls out.

_"That depends on who's asking,"_ comes the sourceless reply. _"Magister Pavus, isn't it?"_

" _Magister_ Pavus is my father," Dorian points out.

This gets him a short, cold laugh. _"Indeed? I can hardly tell the difference. Though you also remind me more and more of Magister Alexius… so tell me, **Dorian** , are you actually yourself under all those masks?"_

Dorian doesn't deign to answer, but the words leave his heart racing. "Who are _you?_ " he calls out, instead.

_"You're not ready to hear the answer to that yet. A pity, I know, but all things must have their time and place. You're not supposed to be here. You asked too many questions. Left your beloved Tevinter too early."_

"I left precisely when I was supposed to."

_"What is written is written. But you're bending the rules. You're not allowed to do that, Dorian. You know what happens when you disobey the rules. But nevertheless… maybe there is still some use in it. All these emotions, all this honesty… all this **fear** … ripe for the taking."_

Dorian's heart races harder, and he hopes this _whatever-it-is_ can't tell.

_"…I can. I can tell. I can hear the words you don't say, as well as the ones you do. I hear everything. I see everything. I **know** everything. Would you like to know everything, Dorian? Would you like **answers**?"_

"I'd like them. But not from you. I don't want a _thing_ from you except to be left alone."

_"Really? I don't think that's true. I could give you power like you've never known. One is rising, right now, and the crossing of your paths is written in the fates. She will ask you to stand against your mentor. Against your homeland. You must refuse. And in return… I will give you the power to stop, and to save, Gereon Alexius."_

Dorian wants that. Of course he does. He wants it very, very badly, and he can feel the need _pulling_ at him… but he can't listen to it. He can't. Whatever this thing is, it's _far_ more than a mere demon, and you _do not make deals with demons_.

_"People tell you that all the time, don't they, Dorian? Don't you ever wonder why? 'Oh, you'll turn into an abomination, oh no'. Pathetic! Weak children turn into abominations. But someone with your power… you could control it. You could make such a deal and survive. Why not let me prove it to you?"_

"I want _nothing_ to do with _you!_ " Dorian howls. "Leave me!"

Another soft, rumbling laugh, that seems to shake the otherworldly heavens. _"As you wish… for now. I'll be seeing you, Magister Pavus…"_

The air goes silent… and then the space where Dorian is standing fills with ethereal, glowing shades. And they don't look friendly.

"…oh, I've had enough of this place," Dorian groans, summoning his magic and launching into battle once more.

***

Bull doesn't know what to do. At all. Dorian's still breathing, still flush from battle, but he's gone… somewhere. Unresponsive. Shaking, slapping, begging… none of it has the slightest effect. He's dead to the world, alive in body only.

And Bull. Is. _Terrified_. 

It crashes through like water through a ruptured hull, then it's gone and he knows it will come back, but he can't see it, and…

What do you do? It's magic. And magic is what heals magic. Not potions, not really. It's that _fucking_ lyrium, isn't it? Horrible fucking stuff. Bad. Wrong. Dangerous. 

He flinches at the hand to his shoulder, curling more protectively around his kadan, trying to make his thoughts calm enough to follow. 

"Chief?"

Bull shakes his head: No. No. Not now. No. 

"Chief… should we get him to a healer?"

"A mage one," Stitches adds. 

But Bull just. Pulls his knees in tighter, too far under to be able to respond. 

"…you could always let me help," comes a voice that certainly isn't any of them.

There's a man standing a little distance away, but he's clearly not Human, Elven, Qunari or Dwarven. His body is mostly Human in shape, but his skin is hued in purple, and there are horns – slender and curved, and far less expansive than those of any Qunari – on his head.

And he isn't wearing much. Almost nothing, in fact, and what he _is_ wearing seems to stay on without any logical reasons for it to do so. It's strangely elaborate, though; glittering and golden, like you might expect from the finest Tevinter bed-slave.

He smiles. It's the kind of smile that would break empires.

Bull lifts his head, and the cold anger that washes through him has his tongue quaking in his mouth before he can stammer anything past it. "Fucking. _Demon_."

Krem hefts his sword, and steps to better block Bull and Dorian from it. "Want me to kill it, Chief?"

"What the fuck is wrong with my kadan?" Bull asks, despite his better judgement. He has no better judgement, not when Dorian is in trouble, it seems. "Did you do this to him?"

The demon – blatantly a Desire Demon – smiles again.

"Oh no," he answers, so very smoothly. "I didn't do this to him. He did this to himself. But… I can fix it. His mind is locked in the Fade, and I can bring him back. Would you like that? Would it _please you?_ "

"Of course it fucking would." Bull holds Dorian tighter, curling protectively around him, cradling his head against his shoulder. "But you're a fucking _demon_ , and you're a damn **monster**."

"Chief?"

"What if my guys here just… convinced you to bring him back. As in: before they whale the shit out of your purple ass? They might still, anyway, but it would hurt a hell of a lot more if I told them to make it hurt."

The demon laughs. "You think you can intimidate me, tiny mortal? Your people are welcome to attack. They may even triumph. But my corpse will be of little comfort to you when your beloved dies in your arms, and there's _nothing_ you can do to stop it…"

"You'll _wish_ you were dead," Skinner growls. "It's not the same."

Dorian is… Dorian is self-destructive, it's true. Takes care of himself less than he should. Wanders around in the damn south without even a horse. Drinks to excess when he's distressed. Runs his mouth when it should be shut, and… annoyingly has that streak of 'greater good' which… augh!

But, Bull knows, he's more than that. Even without all the fancy light shows and braggadocio… even though it's all too often his attempt to convince himself as much as the world… he's not stupid. 

He's anything but stupid. He survived the Imperium, after all. And his family. And the crushing weight of their norms. And he came out still sure of what he believed in.

Then there's the part where despite all the drinking, he's clearly survived each time. Being a drunk, gay, Tevinter mage isn't easy on any landmass in Thedas, and he's still as confident and _alive_ as ever. And still strong enough to keep fighting. And still able to keep going even when he's been all but destroyed by a templar sent by the man he admires more than anything. And _then_ able to find love, and peace, and surrender in Bull's own arms.

A man capable of all of that? Yeah. Bull lifts his lone eye – blazing with self-righteous fury – and spits on the ground in front of him. "He's not going to die. And if he was, then coming back to being betrayed by me would kill him all over. So you can take your offer and make it into a _saartoh nehrappan_ and use it to go fuck yourself." 

This makes the demon laugh again, though if you're paying attention, there's the barest hint of concern in his tone too. "As you wish, mortal. Then I shall kill you all, and take the mage's body when I'm done. Maybe I'll even wear yours whilst I do it…"

" _Chargers!_ "

Bull howls it out, but the three of them are already pincering in. He glares at it, knowing the best thing for him to do is protect Dorian's unconscious form. He's also pinned down, with his axe to one side, and there's only so much he can do.

So he pulls out the new knife from his boot – the one Dorian enchanted for him – and holds it ready, just in case.

He needn't have worried, though, because the other three are too incensed to let the demon last long. Or rather: two want it dead, and the third seems to think the thousand cuts preferable. 

Krem slashes across its belly, as Stitches' sword sinks into its shoulder, and it hisses angrily as they whittle away at the creature.

"You messed with the wrong mercs, sweetheart," Bull snarls, as Krem slides his blade through its guts. "No fucking demon is gonna hurt my boys." Pause. "Or girls."

"Too right," Skinner growls, as the demon drops to its knees and slumps sideways; dead before it hits the floor.

And, though the two things aren't connected in the slightest – though you could be forgiven for thinking they were – this is the moment that Dorian suddenly jumps awake with a gasp, like he's just been running flat-out, and thrashing a little in shock until his mind catches up with him again.

"…Am I back?" he gasps. " _Kaffas_ , I did not enjoy that…"

Bull grabs Dorian's face between both hands – one still holding the knife – bores his gaze into him just to be _certain_ … and then smashes his mouth to his, all teeth and clashing and biting and terrified relief.

"…you're back," Krem says, kneeling to clean his blade. "Missed a purple demon thing. No big. Not so hard, this demon-killing shit."

"That… is him, right?" Stitches asks, a little concerned. 

"Chief would tell if it wasn't," Krem answers. "So I'm going with: yes."

"It's me," Dorian gasps, when the kiss finally breaks. He's shaking all over and his head is pounding, but this is real, this is definitely real… thank the Maker… "The lyrium. It… sometimes it can… can kick you into the Fade. Whilst you're conscious. I… should have warned you, I'm sorry, I thought I was using a small enough dose…"

…but he did take _two_ didn't he?

"Don't you _dare_ scare me like that, you asshole! Ever! **Ever**! I didn't know what happened, I didn't know how to help you, I--" Bull grabs his ears tightly enough to hurt, then pushes their foreheads together, his breath shattering on every exhale. 

Fucking. Mages. Magic. Demons. Shit. 

Bull wraps his arms around him, crushing him into his chest, trying to hide how much he's shaking. "That purple bitch nearly had me ready to sell my damn soul for you. If I didn't know you're too damn stubborn and powerful to let… I just… fuck you!" 

Which is Iron Bull for 'I love you', right now. 

Dorian just holds on, and lets Bull shout out his feelings, well-aware he must have given the man a terrible shock. But… but it worked, didn't it? The rift is gone, the demons are dead, everyone is still alive and upright, and he…

…well, he saw things in the Fade, but let's not worry too much about those right now…

"…I know, I know, it's all right," he says, trying to sound soothing. "I'm all right, see? It's just a risk of taking lyrium, but it won't do me any long-term harm, I promise. And I… I needed to give myself the best chance of shutting the rift before more demons came through…"

"Still an asshole," Bull hisses in his ear, not loosening his grip. He fucking hates demons. And the Fade. And all that shit. And here it is – all over the countryside in the middle of the day – ready to take his kadan away at the snap of fingers, and…

He burrows his face in deeper, pushing the very real panic down, and down, and down. He can't let it out. Can't let it win. So it has to go _away_. He's the Iron Bull. And he's fine. And…

"We're all okay," Krem points out. "And Buckles is right: we can't let those kinds of things just… spit out demons if we can shut them down."

"Krem, did anyone tell you that sometimes you shouldn't rub it in?"

"Come to think… no."

"Don't rub it in," Bull snaps. "Just. I'm fine. It… took me by surprise, is all." He is not fine. He is far from fine. But if he tells everyone loudly enough, including himself, he can function as if he is. "And you--" to Dorian, as he pulls back. "You need to stop assuming we know everything, like time magic and whatever this was… and you also need to stop nearly dying, because it's not allowed."

Dorian feels… complicated right now. On the one hand, he feels guilty for scaring Bull like that. On the other… he wasn't actually doing anything stupid (this time), and he's the only one here who could have closed that rift, and the consequences of _not_ closing it would have been significant. And bad.

"…I only nearly died once," he insists. "And that wasn't my fault. And… I had to do something about that rift. I had to. I… didn't want to worry you further when things were already very fraught."

Also he's used to operating in a society where all these things are openly-known facts – certainly among the altus – so the need to explain himself doesn't always dawn on him. Not when it comes to the basics, at least.

"But I'm sorry," he adds, because he really _didn't_ want to upset Bull any more than being around a bunch of _demons_ already has. "I promise I'm OK. See? Not even hurt."

"I just… ugh." Bull rubs Dorian's arm, and then pats it. "I know. It's just… I can't help with that shit, and when that purple bitch…" Would he have? He didn't, but he considered it, and the very fact he had a conversation with a damn _demon_ is beyond anything he was ever going to be happy about. 

"I just… it was… not enjoyable. And I don't like seeing you in danger. And I'm not used to things I can't just punch out of my way." 

"Like 'feelings'?" Krem tries, a little awkwardly.

"You are at risk of forfeiting your pie privileges, mister." Bull looks back to Dorian. "Can you stand? Are – will you be alright, now, or is there a risk of anything further?"

"I should be all right," Dorian answers. "The effects are only temporary. Give me a moment or two and I'll be back to complaining about the weather."

The self-deprecation is an attempt to lighten the mood, but he knows it's going to take more than that. Right now, he just wants to make sure Bull is convinced he's OK. Because he is… aside from a slight concern about whatever-it-was that spoke to him in the Fade. But things in the Fade _like_ to mess with mortals, so it might be nothing to worry about.

Then again…

Stitches steps closer, holding his hand out to help Dorian up. Bull is too heavy, so he takes the axe he's handed again and uses it to lever himself to his feet. 

"…we likely to see more of those?" Bull asks. "This gonna be a regular occurrence? Cause… if so, we might want to look at better ways of handling them in future."

It is not meant as a criticism, though he does want to improve. 

"It's likely, yes," Dorian answers, obsessively brushing himself down, despite the fact he's soaking wet from the rain. "I suspect whatever's happened in the Frostbacks has weakened the Veil more widely, and it's making it easier for rifts to form. And that's problematic, because unless someone manages to come up with an easier way to close the damned things, there won't be many mages around who can deal with them."

The look in his eyes says he's thinking of offering his services… but _after_ this whole business with Alexius is sorted. One thing at a time.

"Great. And… are you likely to go…" Bull swirls a finger around a horn-tip, "…every time?"

And why is his skin still crawling? Bull knows he should be being more supportive, but it's… difficult. He just looked dead, and now he's back, and… demons… and magic… and… 

"Maybe we should discuss this when we're away from the… squelch."

Dorian shakes his head. "No. Hopefully not. I'm usually OK with lyrium – I deliberately take it in small doses – but this time I doubled-up. I didn't want to risk _not_ being able to shut the rift."

Not that he knew for sure it would work, but it definitely increased his chances.

"And yes, we should definitely move. Unless Stitches wants some rare alchemical ingredients… some forms of demon ichor are _very_ potent in potion-making…"

"…and they aren't… dangerous?" Bull asks, his lip curling from his teeth in disgust. "Because: have at it. But keep that away from me."

"I'll grab some of it, if we've got a minute," Stitches agrees. "And I won't get any on you, Chief."

"See that you don't." Bull shudders. It really does make him feel nauseous. 

More than aware of the other man's discomfort – which is in itself odd, because so few things rattle Bull – Dorian takes his hand and tries to lead him away from the group for a moment. He's worried, now, and not certain how best to help.

"Talk to me," he implores. "Whatever you need to say, say it. Please."

"Nothing. Just… demon crap. Don't like them. Never did." Bull thinks this is a perfectly reasonable response to have, because demons are terrible. "Nothing to say. I mean, that I didn't already. You were gone, and I was worried, and now you're back, and I don't want to let it happen again. Alright?"

Dorian understands denial. Dorian is very, very good at denial. He holds Bull's hand closer, pressing it to his own chest, over his heart. "Amatus," he says, softly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I put you in that position. I couldn't simply walk away, and you'd never have let me face it without you. And if you don't want to talk about it, I won't make you, but… you can. If you _do_ want to."

Bull should know better. He does know better. He knows how to hide nearly anything and everything, it's just that… he chooses not to, around some people. Like Dorian. 

But even so, there are some things maybe you should hide. 

His head turns slightly, even as his palm presses more firmly, needing to feel the thud beneath his ribs. "I'm not saying you shouldn't have. I agreed with you, didn't I? Doesn't mean I _like_ it. Putting you – or any of us – near demons? I don't like it. But I do plenty of things I don't like, if I need to."

So, so many things. 

"It's fine. It just… it's fine, kadan. I just want you as safe as I can make you be. That's all."

Expression soft, Dorian steps in and puts his other hand on Bull's face.

"I'm safe," he says. "I know what I'm doing. I… should have warned you about the possible side-effects, but other than that… it's OK."

He knows it isn't, though. Knows this is more than just Bull being rattled by him collapsing the way he did. But… he also knows you can't force these things.

So he nods. "All right. But if you need to talk about it again – or anything else – just remember I'm here. And I love you."

Bull is being ridiculous, he knows. Dorian is safe. Everyone is safe. The demons are gone. And everything is just perfectly fine, and it's like dragons except much less fun, and… the tightness across his chest just won't seem to go.

He tries to resist the touch to his face, mostly because he doesn't know how to make his expression behave. If he looks at him, then there's every chance he…

"Yeah, I… yeah. It's… don't worry about it." He forces his eye to obey, but his jaw is set in a grim line, and he's not really thawing from whatever it is he's frozen in. He should say 'I love you, too', but he doesn't. Not because he doesn't, but… why? There's no reason not to. He just. Doesn't. 

"You… ready to set off?"

There's a flicker of sadness in Dorian's eyes at this, but he nods. "Yes," he answers. "Yes. Very ready." And he steps away before he can lose his nerve and say anything else.

Luckily, Skinner has managed to retrieve his wayward horse from where it fled during the battle. She hands over the reins with a slightly resigned look, though it's nothing compared to the look the horse gives Dorian; clearly unimpressed with him.

"At least you didn't get eaten," he says to it, lowly. "You could at least give me points for that."

Bull doesn't ask Stitches if he's done. He just mounts his own horse a little too sharply (making it whinny in protest, before quietening down), and adjusts his weight in the saddle. "Come on. Need to get to the next town before we lose the sun." 

He doesn't wait for anyone to agree, kicking the beast's flank and setting it off at a steady trot. He can't look at anyone, and he knows Krem's moved to his blind side, but… he just can't. So he pushes his horse on, and makes it very clear he Doesn't Want To Talk. All the way to the next scratch in the dirt.


	28. Chapter 28

The mood is a little sour by the time they stop, at a small but homely-looking tavern just off the North Road. And it stays sour, all the way through the evening, until Dorian feels like he has two options.

One of them involves a lot of very bad wine. And the other… involves a Conversation. Capital deliberate.

Somehow, he manages to wrestle the wine-leaning side of his brain into submission (or, at least, begrudging acceptance) and steers Bull off to their room sooner rather than later, giving the others what he hopes is a suitably apologetic look in the process.

Only once they're alone does he say anything more.

"You're going to have to talk about it now."

OK, so maybe all this heavy silence and glowering has made him a little tetchy too. He tries to rein it in, but he knows there's more of it in his voice than is helpful.

"Talk about… what?" Bull folds his arms across his chest (which is a far, far too telling sign because he'd never knowingly be so passive-aggressive or openly defensive if he was thinking things through). 

It's been a shitty day, and a shitty evening, and now it seems it will be capped off with a shitty night. Great. "Please: enlighten me."

Dorian sighs. He is not someone you should send to have Conversations. He's someone you should send to have more wine. But… here he is.

"Amatus. You're angry and you're sullen and you're clearly very upset by what happened this afternoon. And… you can talk to me about it. You can tell me anything. It's… it's OK."

"What do you want me to say? I hate demons! I hate the Fade! I hate demons coming _from_ the Fade! I haven't exactly kept any of that a secret from you. What more do you want from me?" 

So Bull's voice is a little more shrill and harrowed than he'd like, but what does Dorian actually expect? "You think I can just tell you 'Oh, I felt a little concerned when the love of my life was out cold and some otherworldly piece of shit tried to barter with me and then threatened to take you anyway' and suddenly we all feel _better_? Is that what you needed me to say? Because if you're wanting anything more… you'll have to throw me a damn bone, here."

"You've been concerned about me before," Dorian reminds him. "More than once. But you've never taken it _out_ on me. Those other times, you were upset. This time, you're mad."

He tries to look non-threatening, but confident at the same time. Someone who isn't going to attack, but isn't going to fold, either. It isn't easy, because his own emotions are running hot, now, and he's more than a little worried. And, let's be honest, still recovering from what happened this afternoon.

"How am I taking it out on you? You're the one who decided to interrogate me!" Bull stretches his hands, then crunches them tight, then stretches them again. "I'm very, very not okay with what happened today. And I don't know what you think I should be doing differently, because I can't just… magic or drink away what happened, alright? So unless you have something up your well-tailored sleeve that will help…?"

"I'm _asking_ you to _talk_ about it," Dorian pushes. "You know, that thing you keep trying to make _me_ do instead of drowning my sorrows in wine? You've been telling me nigh-on _everything_ since the day we met, but _now_ you're suddenly Mr Stoic?"

"I _did_ talk about it! Did you not hear me? Would you like me to say it louder? Or in Tevene? _I don't like demons_." Bull is aware he's getting angry now. Or more, that the anger is overspilling. 

"What. Do you want. Me. To. Say?"

He's bristling, drawing himself defensively taller, trying to look dangerous without even thinking about it. It's all hind-brain now, with the smarter parts far, far away. 

"I want you to tell me why you'll gleefully run off after a massive, lightning-breathing dragon like it's a _fun day out_ , but ask you to kill a few demons and you fold in on yourself like I've just mentioned fucking _Seheron!_ " Dorian exclaims, losing it somewhat. "I want you to let me _help you_ feel better about this, rather than spend all night in your sullen little corner not engaging with anyone, and don't you _dare_ deny it, because if _I_ was acting like this you'd be all-fucking-over me!"

"Dragons are big-ass-flapping-biting-flying fucking _monsters_. But they are _animals_. They just want to kill you! They don't _get inside your damned head_! They don't **crawl** inside bodies and twist them to do what they want! They don't _bargain_ with you! They just want to **eat** you! They don't threaten to wear you like a _suit_ to – to take over or kill everyone you _love_." Bull isn't managing the whole 'deescalate' thing very well right now. From the white around his eye, he's… not entirely there. 

"Did I act like this when you got pissed about _templars_?"

"Well, I _certainly_ didn't act like _you_ are right now," Dorian points out. "I _told_ you I was upset, and why, and let you help me get through it. And I certainly didn't start _yelling_ when you tried to talk to me about it!"

His blood's running hot now, and he's increasingly close to doing something stupid. And if that happens… when that happens… there's a risk it will be to go downstairs and start drinking.

Bull's eye narrows to a thin slit. "Well I _apologise_ that me being – that how I feel about demons means I can't be a fucking ray of sunshine! What do you want me to do about it? Because _normally_ I just get someone to hit me with a fucking _stick_ , or go find someone to smash about until I _forget_ about it again! Because right now all I can think about is _you waking up and me being a fucking demon, or the other way around_ , and I haven't worked out how I make that **stop** and it's very fucking hard to _look_ at people right now and _not_ … not think it!"

He snarls, turns, and punches his fist into the wall. It sinks rather satisfyingly deep, but it's nothing like enough. "Maybe you should just let me go find a fucking fight and go drink with Krem." He pulls his hand out, and examines the dust that spatters his knuckles. He didn't feel the slightest pain, and that's… it's going to take a lot more.

…maybe the talking was a bad idea. Maybe Dorian should have realised that sooner. Although maybe he himself needed to be more wound up before he could do what he _should_ have done from the start.

Or. No. Well. What he thinks he should have done. Time will tell if he's right.

His mana is still running hot, despite the effort it took to close that rift, and that makes it easy enough for him to summon up a wall of crackling energy and use it to slam Bull straight into the wall he's just punched.

"Right," Dorian growls, unimpressed. "Run off and leave you. You seriously expect me to believe that's what you want right now? If you're going to pick a fight with me, at least have the _guts_ to be honest about it."

The sudden slam takes Bull by surprise, which isn't like him at all. Normally he sees (hah) nearly everything coming. And worse, it sends a spark of fear through him. Fear he normally doesn't let touch him at all when he's fighting. Really fighting. It's all a ballet of blades, like a finely-executed choreography, with any other concerns dampened down. 

But right now, his fear levels are so high that the move – and the feeling of helplessness – has him prickling like a cactus. 

Bull is rarely, visibly afraid. And he doesn't remember being afraid _of_ Dorian before. _For_ him, yes. Of him? No. So the sudden bath of ice-cold water to his spine is incredibly, incredibly unpleasant. 

He should answer. He should. Scream that he wasn't trying to pick a fight (was he?) Scream that he'd ask for it if it was what he thought he wanted. Scream… anything. But he can't. He can't say anything, suddenly. He's shaking, and he's trying not to. But he's shaking. And he's _scared_. And he's caught, somewhere between running and fighting, and clearly not thinking anything close to straight lines. 

The lack of further yelling has Dorian even more worried. He closes the distance between them, not dropping the pressure (just in case) until he's right in front of Bull, and then he puts both hands on the other man's face – not too fast, so it doesn't look like an attack – and stares up at him.

"Do you think I'm a demon?" he asks, much more softly. "Right now. Is that why you don't want to talk to me?"

His chest aches. All he wants to do is help, and the need is almost overwhelming.

_No_ , Bull should yell. Shake his head. Anything. Tell Dorian it's fine. Tell him of course he doesn't. Tell him it's ridiculous and it's just that they've had a horrible day and…

"How would I even fucking _know_? The minute that _asshole_ 'died', you woke up. And how would I know? Wouldn't it be inside your head? Wouldn't it know _just_ what to say?" 

Bull hadn't thought it. At least, not consciously. But maybe it had been there, underneath. He's clearly still frightened out of his mind, and fighting rigors that sweep from horns to toes. "I wanted to say _yes_. I just wanted you back so much… kadan… how do you _bear_ it? How do you trust anything? How do you keep saying _no_?"

"…You'd know," Dorian answers, quietly. "Less-aware people might not, but you… you'd know. It would be convincing, oh yes, but there would be subtle signs. Demons are skilled, but rarely perfect."

He sighs again, looking down but keeping his hands in place.

"I keep saying no because I know what happens when you say yes. I've seen it. Seen talented, educated mages turn into abominations because they couldn't control themselves. And I have been trained since I first learned to make coloured lights that you _do not give in_ no matter what they offer you. Even if it's _everything_ your heart desires, and you think they're not asking too much in return. Because they are _always_ asking too much in return."

"But it was _you_ ," Bull chokes out, the tears breaking out now, on the ragged sob of his breath. "It was _you_. It was only the – it was only the fact I knew you'd hate me for doing it, and… and the thought you'd find some fucking way back…"

He drops his head, meeting Dorian's with his own. "I knew… I told myself… you would. If anyone would, it would be you. But I – I could see myself saying _yes_. And I don't know that I wouldn't, if it was the only way to save you, and I don't feel as bad about that as I should." 

Bull can see so many other alternatives, so many other situations where he wouldn't have the same strength, the same determination. He carefully lifts his own hands to Dorian's face, but doesn't try to make him look up. He's not ready to make eye-contact just yet, either. 

"I – I betrayed you. I said I never would, and… I did. Or… I saw how I could. And I'm so. Fucking. _Terrified_ of losing you, I just… Kadan… I don't want to fight you, I'm just…" A fucking mess.

Dorian slowly slides both arms around him, and holds on tight.

"You didn't betray me," he insists. "Having the thought in your head isn't the same as acting on it. And the first time one of them offers you something… you _do_ feel like you're going to say yes. In many ways… you do every time."

Another soft little sigh, and a shiver. He's scared too. He's just… more used to this particular fear.

"I saw something, whilst I was in the Fade. Or… heard it, at least. Some kind of demon spoke to me. It offered me the chance to save Alexius. I want that so very badly, but I didn't agree… because, beyond the physical threat, demons only have the power you give to them. And wishing you _could_ say yes isn't the same as actually doing it."

Bull is less restrained. He wraps his arms around the ones around him, and _squeezes_ , but doesn't loosen up. At all. Tighter and tighter and… "Fuck! I'm sorry! I – it – I've never… I'm not a damn mage and I… the thought of it _clawing_ around in my head and _knowing_ what I want and--"

Another shudder, his knees threatening to give beneath him. "Kadan… I can't lose you. And it's just so…" He can't formulate the words, can't put it into existence on his tongue. To name it is to acknowledge it, and he's barely holding back a torrent of emotional response. A torrent that normally demands only one of two reactions, and he's not willing to go down either route, right now. 

"You won't lose me," Dorian tells him, desperately. "I just… need you to trust that I know what I'm doing. You think I don't get scared when you charge into battle with nothing but an axe? It terrifies me. But I know how good you are with it. I know it's _all_ you need to win the day."

His hands stroke slowly, trying to give the other man some grounding.

"A demon can't possess you without permission. It can't. So if you swear to yourself that you'll never say yes, you're safe."

"They can get inside your _head_ ," Bull protests. "I – only _you_ get to go there." He feels… it's… It feels like being _violated_ , and his fingers claw, then loosen, then claw again. 

"I don't think you'd say yes. It isn't… it isn't _that_. It's if you get… if you get stuck somewhere I can't go. Or… or if something happens and… and I can't… Everyone survives every battle they're in, until the one they _don't_." 

"I know," Dorian replies, very softly. "And that… is the risk we take. If you want less risk, then we'd have to retire to that villa in Tevinter sooner than planned… but you don't. This life is in your blood, and you need it."

He curls in closer, head on Bull's chest.

"They can get inside your head, yes," he adds. "Not to control, but to… look. And it is unsettling. No, more than that, it's _horrible_. But it's just another weapon, nothing more, and one you can fight against. And besides… if they did get in your head, what would they see? A brave, brilliant man who always puts others first, who risks his life for what's right. And even if they struggled to turn that into an attack, they'd be fighting against the tide."

"I stayed alive so long _because_ I controlled what people saw. Even the Ben-Hassrath." Bull cradles his hand more softly around Dorian's head, and wraps the other around his shoulders. "Who I am… who I _really_ am… you might have wanted people to see you, but I **didn't**. And… having that… ripped away from me?"

It's utterly horrific. 

"It isn't that I don't… there's things I wouldn't want… seen… but it's… it's… that was the only way to survive. It feels… it feels like… dying. And letting them have something I only ever gave to you. It's… _wrong_." And worse than he'd ever imagined it could be. "I'm not supposed to even talk to them! They go after mages! No one ever – I used to think they – but it was always supposed to be _you_ they'd… and I – it's been that way for so many years and…"

Bull pushes his face into Dorian's hair. "…it used to terrify me, but then it wasn't going to happen, and… now it _has_ , and all those walls I put up… now I know they're lies. It was the only way not to be fucking terrified."

"It's all right to be afraid, you know," Dorian reminds him. "It's natural. And the people around you wouldn't think any less of you in a situation like that. Would you think less of them? Of course you wouldn't. You'd understand."

He presses his head in more tightly. "Tell me what you need. Let me help you get through this. Let me… give you a perspective you've never had before."

Demons are bad news, oh yes. Very bad news. But this level of terror… Dorian knows part of this is the Qun's doing. That they grind the fear of anything magical, anything Fade-related, into all of their people, and they think it makes them stronger. But it doesn't, because ignorance never does.

"I – I d-don't know…" Bull rarely stammers, but his voice is unsure, and his whole body aches with tension. "I'm – they can be afraid, but I--"

Can't. Can't. Hold it together. Keep everyone going. Damp sheets and sleepless nights. "Have to push it down. Have to… beat it out… make it go… can't be a leader, can't… can't serve if I can't push it out… they need me. I have to. It's – it's my job. Can't… let anyone see."

"You can let me see," Dorian insists, hands on Bull's face again, trying to meet his eye. "You hide it from them all you need, but you let me see. You never had me before. Things are different now. I've showed you parts of myself I'd never share with another living soul, and you… you can do the same. I can be what you need to deal with this, so that out there, none of it will ever show."

It isn't through stubbornness that it takes Bull long moments to meet Dorian's gaze, and when he does… it feels like all the flesh is ripped from his bones. Bull looks away in response, not handling it well, before he tries again.

He – it just – every time he's been afraid he's… forced it away, or drowned it out in pain, violence, anger… something. Any time it's been this bad – or close – he's just… made it go. 

Bull turns his head, holding Dorian's in place to kiss the palm. Shaky, but lovingly. "Kadan… don't… don't laugh." He fights to look up. "I don't know how… how to be afraid. I make it go away. I make it go… I fight. I… hurt. It's… you see, but…" No one else. No one. "I don't know _how_." But I want to. It's there in the tone of his voice. "I don't want _them_ to know something you _don't_." 

Dorian certainly doesn't laugh. Far from it. His expression is grave, but understanding. "There's nothing wrong with wanting to fight against your fear. Everyone does it. Maker knows, I do it often enough… in good ways and bad. But sometimes… sometimes you just need to acknowledge it. To let it be real, because holding it back hurts more. The only thing harder than feeling something you don't like is trying to pretend it doesn't exist at all. Because it _does_."

Dorian does not feel like someone who should be providing any kind of emotional advice. He is a series of dramas and catastrophes, wrapped in astonishing fashion sense. But… you play the hand you're dealt.

"Look at it this way… if the room was on fire, would you try to put it out, or would you simply insist there were no flames? You can't will them away, any more than you can will away fire. And you can't deal with them until you accept they're real."

Bull snorts. "I'd throw everyone out the window and run into the walls until they broke, or I did." Which is him being ridiculous, and he knows it, but it's… the response that fits for what he does. 

"It was the only way to keep going. I – I couldn't let the Tamassrans know. If I didn't fit in…" He'd be useless to the Qun. And then what? He'd be thrown out? "They told me I'd – I'd find a place… Kadan, I – I _want_ … I want you to… but it's so… _big_ , and… what if I lose control?" 

There's such a sad flicker in Dorian's eyes now, and he almost wants to look down. But he forces himself not to, because he needs to keep doing this. _Bull_ needs him to keep doing this.

"I know all about trying to fit in," he says, softly. "And that ever-present fear about what you'll do when people realise you don't. But… you're away from the Qun, now. You can think for yourself. You _do_ think for yourself. And that means you can choose how you think about this too."

"And… what exactly do you mean, when you worry about losing control? Of your fear, or your reaction to it? Because… you _have_ lost control if you don't face them."

Bull shakes his head. "No… that's… that's… using it. Channelling it. It's…" Difficult to explain. "You saw… when we met. You saw me now. It's… picking a fight is…"

Easier. "It's not so bad when you just want someone to hit you, unless you can't find anyone who will." 

"The first time… you wanted a fight," Dorian reminds him, his mind flashing back to that clearing in the forest, wishing he could dwell on the better parts of the memory instead. "Are you saying I should refuse in future? Because I can do that… to a point."

He can also do the opposite, but he's starting to think that's not the solution anymore.

"I don't know! It was just… AUGH!" Bull grabs at his horns, squeezing hard. "So… _wound_ and… if I forgot all my thoughts and it just… it made it go away… Fuck! If I knew what to do I'd do it! I could focus on the… moment and then if it hurt, when the hurt went it would, too." 

Which makes stupid sense. "I'm not going to be a 'sit and eat cream cakes and talk about my feelings until they go away' kind of guy, kadan. And the inside of my head is _screaming_ at me to push you until you push me back, just as hard." 

Dorian worries this is not the answer. When _he_ does something excessive, it's because he's acting out, and that makes him think this is similar. But… he's also not a Qunari, so maybe it's genuinely different for Bull. And maybe he needs to work it out for sure, so he can get this right faster in future.

Because… there's going to be more demons. Which means he has to find a way to help Bull deal with it.

"If that's what you need, that's what I'll do," he says. "And if that's what works for you… then we do it safely, and we keep it between us. And out there, you be the unshakable leader your team needs… and in here, you deal with what's under the surface however is best."

Head back, hands still on his horns, chest rising raggedly… Bull… swallows. 

"I… I need to know…" And then, he laughs. "That time. That first time…" His teeth push into his lips. "I was going – right now – to make you promise me you wouldn't let me hurt you. Or… let me make you do anything you didn't want. But then I… did the same that time – when we… it was… _different_. I don't think you knew just how… fucked up my head was, right then, but… it was different. With you."

Slowly, he lowers his hands. "People knew I… needed a fight, or… just a scrap. But you… I wanted you to _understand_." He forces himself to meet Dorian's eyes again. "I wanted you… to see me. It was _different_. You are different. _This_ … talking… **knowing** …" He turns one hand, offering his palm. "I think… I think I need you to see. To see _why_. Before… so you know. Not just… do."

"You never hurt me that time," Dorian insists, but gently; taking Bull's hand and holding on. "You… surprised me, certainly, but you never hurt me. I was never afraid of you, not then, even though I knew I should be. And you _definitely_ didn't make me do anything I didn't want. You made it clear you wanted to make a move on me… but you didn't do it until _I_ made it clear I wanted you to."

He's sure of that. He remembers the longing look in Bull's eye, and the way he held himself back, and Dorian knows that what followed only did so because they both knew they both wanted it. That it wasn't Bull assaulting a prisoner, or Dorian seducing his captor. It was real, right from the start.

"If you need to talk, to explain, then do," he goes on. "I'll listen. I'll help. And if you need to fight, then fight, and trust me not to let it go any further than I'm content with. And if you need _both_ , then do both. Just… let me help. Please. I can't bear to see you in pain."

Bull pulls Dorian by the hand, pulls him in close, almost as if they're dancing. His lips graze over the tip of his ear, and his voice… "I'm afraid," he murmurs, low, and rough. "I'm _afraid_. And when… when I feel this way…" 

He grabs hold of Dorian's hair with his other hand. "I want you to _know_ it. I – I need you to **stay**. And I need it _hard_ and I don't care how. I need it to _hurt_ , but I need it to be _you_ , and I…" Push. Push through. "I need you to understand… and stay with me, anyway…" 

Just doing won't cut it, not now. It's gone beyond that, and Bull is sure he won't be satisfied or relieved if it isn't whole, and true. "Fight me. Fuck me. Whatever it is… just help me get it out, and… tell me it's okay." Don't stop loving me. Don't hate me. Don't be horrified. Don't be ashamed. Don't be disgusted. Don't run away. "I can't do this without you." 

An idea is starting to form in Dorian's mind. It is not a nice idea. It is not a pleasant idea. In fact, the more he thinks about it, the more he hates himself for even considering it.

The trouble is, objectively, it might well be a _good_ idea. It will certainly force the fear out of Bull. Make him admit it. Make him acknowledge it. And it will be impossible for Dorian not to confront it as well, so Bull will _see_ him accepting it. See him not running away.

But that won't stop it hurting. And the thought of hurting Bull – of _actually_ hurting him, rather than in a fun way – is so completely counter to who Dorian is.

The distress registers in his eyes for a moment, and then he forces it under the surface. He's a lot better at hiding his emotions than people think, and even though Bull sees more than most, the suppression is as much for his own benefit as anything else.

"I'm going to do something now," Dorian says, soft and level and controlled. "It's going to be unpleasant. You're going to hate me for it. And if you need to punish me for it later, you can, but I'm not going to stop. And… I want you to know that I'm sorry."

The second he's finished speaking, Dorian lets a surge of mana-strength run through him: enough to grab hold of Bull and throw him down on his back on the bed, without any visible effort. Before the man can even react, Dorian then slams a wall of pressure in place over him, making it so he can't move at all.

And… then he paces over and climbs on top of him, straddling his hips. He's still fully-clothed, of course, because this is most assuredly _not_ about sex, but he needs Bull somewhere easy to control, and this felt like the best option.

Plus, he needs to be able to see the other man's face. And vice-versa.

The problem with being thrown violently down and suddenly straddled is that Bull associates those things with entirely different times. Wholly different circumstances, which are most assuredly pleasant. 

So, without any conscious involvement, his body… chooses to react. And that makes his face darken with minor embarrassment, because it doesn't seem to be at all what Dorian was intending. It's not his fault he finds it hot when Dorian shows off, or overpowers him. It's always with a thrill of the illicit _then_ , but now it's magnified a thousandfold. 

"Kadan… I don't think it's possible for me to hate you," he replies, though he's reading his face for clues, for any form of inkling as to what he plans. "I trust you. Even if you are disconcerting me right now."

Dorian wants to be gentle and soothing so very badly. Wants to make it clear all over again that he's only trying to help. But if he lets the mask drop, he won't be able to do this, and he knows he's got to do this. Even though it's breaking him inside, and he hasn't even started yet.

He holds a hand out over Bull's chest, and the room immediately goes dark – save for the firelight, because he always keeps the firelight – before flooding with a deep, violet glow.

People often forget that necromancy isn't just about raising the dead. It's also deeply tied into the very essence of _life_ , and battle, and the spirits that are drawn to such things. And one of the most useful necromantic spells – certainly in combat – is known in Tevene as _nox metus_ ; or, after some very poor translation into Common…

**Horror**.

And, in another burst of that otherworldly purple light, Dorian casts it on Bull.

Bull is used to force, and pain, and sensations of a more pleasant type. Tingling, shocking, prodding, pushing, and comforting or exciting. Dorian has magic, but Dorian is Good, and so he is not to be Feared, simply respected.

So the moment the spell touches him, his first thought is that something's gone terribly, terribly wrong. That Dorian is not Dorian, or not in control. Because Dorian wouldn't do anything like this, and his mind is suddenly thrown fifteen feet to the left, and his heart is pushed beneath the topsoil, and his body is under the crushing weight of white-water and his lungs are full of scalding steam and…

Bull _screams_. He wasn't prepared – how could he be? Any defence he might have thrown up was nowhere in sight, and it's like every nightmare he's ever had, every face he's ever watched contort in death, every time he knew _he fucked up he did this he fucked up he--_.

The tall man thrashes uselessly, and then – aware that he's not in control of his _body_ as well as his mind – screams **louder**. He's trapped, and he can't go away, and he can't go _away_ , and he can see Dorian's face but he doesn't _want_ to, doesn't want to see him, or be seen. 

He can't even beg for it to stop because it's all tunnelling in, and breathing is impossible, and he'd claw his skin off if he could, but he can't, and he knows what it looks like when the Blight gets you and he knows what it looks like when a demon gets you and he knows the sound a man makes when you were his friend and you kill him and he knows how they didn't want this fight and they had to come but it was him or them and he knows he has to hide everything because the Ben-Hassrath can't know and he knows he's let them all down and Dorian has to see this and he _did this_ but he didn't because he wouldn't and it's all sort of going dark around the edges and his throat is raw from screaming and now it's stopped and he's not sure if he's still breathing because his chest is caving in and---

Dorian lets the spell drop. He feels… utterly, utterly wretched and, at the same time, nothing at all, because his mind is pushing the feelings away so he can do this. He knows that won't stop the damage; won't stop the guilt and the grief raking through him under the surface, but the longer he can keep from engaging with it, the more use he'll be to Bull.

"Just breathe," he says, softly; keeping him pinned but nothing else yet. "Just breathe."

He doesn't want to push too much or say too much, though, because he needs to see how Bull will react when he's capable of something other than screaming. That will tell Dorian if he's done enough, or if he needs to do more. And… if the other man will ever forgive him.

Breathe? Breathe? Bull feels like the air is hot fire ants and sand. It's ripping his windpipe bloody, and his lungs are drowning, and he's surrounded by a million dead people – Qunari, Tevinter, Elf, mage, soldier, civilian…

Bull chokes on every inhale, and his lone eye can't see anything, can't focus on a damn thing, and he's sure he's gone blind, except it's still light and fuzzy and not like it was with the other…

Breathe?!

It's about all he can do, scratching in air and clawing his fingers bloody in the sheets. 

Has Dorian pushed too far? He's not sure. He just knows he can't stop now.

"Tell me," he says, that purple light intensifying again. "Tell me the worst things you had to do. Tell me how it made you feel. _Tell me what you're afraid of_."

He tries to make it sound like an urging, not a threat, but… it's hard not to sound threatening when you're doing something like this.

Bull's lone, wild, glassy eye rolls to fix on Dorian's. He's panting, wheezing, fighting just to get enough air in not to pass out. His heart feels like it's expanding beyond his ribs, then contracting so tight it won't ever unfurl again. 

_Tell me_. Doesn't he know he can't? It's how he is still _alive_. You can't be afraid. And if you are, you can't show it. Better to not even see yourself, so no one can guess. 

The Ben-Hassrath. The Tamassrans. _Tama_.

His Tama.

"C-can't… let the Ben-Hassrath know… it's… 'Think of it as a game', she said… you're just p-playing their game… boxes in boxes and you… you show them you can play their rules, you win if they don't see… it's who they want you to be, she said… so they can't be angry with you for playing your role in the Qun…" 

It hurts. His chest. Is fear supposed to feel like a landslide? Is your body supposed to be able to turn on itself so much? People can't possibly function if this is how fear feels, he thinks. How would you ever leave your bed?

What is he afraid of? He looks at Dorian, and… he should be. He's utterly defenceless, both in body and in mind. He should be terrified of him, but…

"N-not you. But you do – you… _this_. T-taking… over. Knowing the things that aren't for knowing… make… making… taking my mind and…"

Whispers in the playground. Things the older children say. Overheard snippets. Concerned faces. "…they said… demons would… would enter y-your mind and drive you mad… make you do things you didn't want… offer you what you wanted, but--"

No. No. **NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO**. It was demons. It was demons in his nightmares. Demons with horns, but demons. It was. It. WAS. 

Dorian wants to say 'I would never do that', and under normal circumstances it would be true. Except… he _is_ doing that, in some way, right now.

So all he can do is press on, and hope that Bull believes him, when it's over.

And… he hears something, in the other man's words. Something that hasn't dawned on him before, but which feels suddenly, glaringly obvious, and the realisation slams him to the core.

"…You think you're no better, don't you?" he says, still so soft and level, trying to keep every flicker of emotion out of his voice. "You're afraid of demons because of what they can do… but you're also afraid of yourself, because – in many ways – you can do those things too."

Get inside people's heads. Understand them, perhaps even better than they understand themselves. Make them do things. Steal their secrets. _Lie_.

Demons, Bull's mind insists. Demons with horns and grey faces, like his. But demons. Not – not – 

" _It's what the Ben-Hassrath do_ ," he hisses, trying to break free again. "You have to hide! You can't let them see! They come for you if you don't follow. Everyone knew… everyone knew! They all _looked_ at me with fear and pity. The Tamassrans knew, I heard them talking… it – it was the only way, the only place – but if _they_ find out… they _break_ you…"

You don't come back the same, if you come back. That's what everyone said. "If you don't… you **disappear**. I had to – I had to make them believe… I had to make them believe I was one of them… they don't turn on their own, not if you follow… but they are inside your _head_ and--"

Hiding. Hiding under the sheets. They'll come to assess, to take away. Demons who can enter your mind and change you. Who can drive you out of it. Who can do anything they want. "They put me there because I _am_ like them… but I'm – I'm **broken** … I didn't want to… but I let them…"

His energy is fading, the horror turning to terror, turning to ice-cold aching. He's shaking, but he's flagging, finding it difficult to keep going. 

"I had to lie even to _them_."

Dorian just holds him still, not doing anything else except listen. And trying to process everything very quickly.

"I know you did," he says, gently. "I know. But you're away from them now. You don't have to lie any longer. Not to me, not to the Chargers. Not to yourself. You can face the shadows and chase them off, with help if you need it. _You're not alone anymore_."

Bull shakes his head, fighting a loud and messy snuffle. "C-can't. If they find out… all of you in danger. S'why I – why I ran… so I wouldn't bring them to their door… can't let the Ben-Hassrath know…"

Gods, but it hurts. "I was… supposed to _believe_. I – I had to act like I did… sometimes for so long I forgot I didn't… I didn't want to go. Kadan… what do you do when they tell you you need to be a _demon_ to survive?"

Layers upon layers and masks and boxes and names and titles and hiding things, even from yourself… he feels the strain of it, even now, and he looks pleadingly up at him. "You're the only one who knows… everything. Why – why? Why do you still trust me? I lied to the _liars_. What if I'm lying right now?" 

"You aren't," Dorian replies, and it's not just empty reassurance. He believes it. "I know it. You love me, and I trust you. I trust you enough to let you tie me down and use me however you like, even when I don't have the magical strength to resist. I wouldn't do that if I didn't know, right at my core, that it was safe. That _you_ are. And you've done far more than you would have needed to do to convince me, because you're not _trying_ to convince me. It's just _true_."

He leans in a little closer, ghosting his fingertips over Bull's chest; over to the now-healed mark on his shoulder. The one matching Dorian's amulet.

"You would never have asked for this, if you were lying," he goes on, gently tracing the mark. "I wasn't wavering. I didn't need nudging back onto the right path. I was – am – smitten. Convincing me further was unnecessary, because I was already convinced. But still, you asked, because you needed it. Wanted it. _For you_."

The touch is like painful magic crackling over Bull's skin, hurting as much as the marking itself did, and it's just fingers. Dorian is so deep inside his mind that it sparks like raw nerves, and he _should_ be petrified. 

If it was anyone else even half as close, he would be. 

Not that Dorian is 'perfect', or without his foibles. No. But… 

"You did this… knowing it's… knowing it's what I'm afraid they'd do to me. Could do to me. _Would_ do to me. You did this… even though I might have hated you forever. Even though it's… precisely why so many people _do_ hate you. And something you **never** wanted."

But then his gaze lowers. "…I… I'm afraid… if they do find out. I'm… what if I can't stop them from breaking me? They already made me into something I'm not. What if… what if they go beyond where I can come back from? What if I stop being _me_?" He forces the lump in his throat to go down. "What if… what if they make me hurt you? And it isn't me, it's…" Him. Them. Something. Not 'him-him'. It's… hard to put into words. 

"Remember what I told you, that night in the clearing?" Dorian replies, still gentle, but so very _sure_ , too. "I won't _let_ them touch you. And if they do, I will burn Par Vollen to the _ground_ to get you back."

And from the soft fury in his voice, he means it.

"If they made you hurt me… I would blame them, not you. It would be no different to them having any other Qunari do it. _It wouldn't be you_ , because _you_ would never hurt me." This, too, Dorian is certain of, and it's clear once more he's not just speaking in helpful platitudes.

"And yes," he adds, "I knew this was a dangerous thing to do. I knew there might be consequences. But I told you I'd do anything to help, and I meant it."

Bull forces himself to meet Dorian's eyes again. His jaw working, as words roll over his tongue and rattle behind his teeth, wanting to get out, or be swallowed. Or both.

Just one question. Just one.

"How… do you bear it?" 

"How do I bear what?" Dorian asks. "Doing this? Hurting you… the way I did before? I have to bear it, because I had to help, and that was more important than any consequences. I'd rather you hated me but were happy, instead of loving me and being miserable. I _want_ you to love me _and_ be happy, of course I do, but… I had to put you first."

Bull smiles, but sadly. "I meant… being afraid." 

He tries to blink the leak out of his eye, though, because… fuck. That hurt. So, so much. "There is no happy without you, kadan. You should know that. But with you… I always will be." 

Dorian is still too deep in a _very_ strange headspace to fully engage with his emotions. That moment will come, but right now he feels weirdly detached and level.

"…I deal with it one day at a time," he says, honestly. "I make sure I'm as strong and as smart as I can be. I take comfort in my knowledge, in my training, in my experience, to keep myself safe. And sometimes… I run off and drink myself into a stupor. I'm hardly a paragon of having a healthy mindset. But… I do know how to get back up every time something knocks me down."

"And… I have you, now. I have someone beside me, who I can rely on. Who won't leave me, or tire of me, or decide who and what I am is unacceptable. I feel so much stronger when you're there. And… I want to be that for you, too."

"The Ben-Hassrath used _saar-qamek_ on me, and never heard what I told you," Bull replies, very, very quietly. "They tried to break me to fit. But you… you just wanted to _see_."

His chest is still tight, but he's slowing. Not thrashing, though he feels… cold? Yes. 

"If that wasn't clear… you _are_ that. You… know things about me no one else ever will. I trust _you_. I would… would never have let you, if I didn't. You… make it easier to know what's real. Kadan…" Bull squirms, clearly uncomfortably restless. "I won't fight." 

Dorian stares at him for a moment, reading the emotion in his face, and then lets the magical pressure go at once, sitting back. He knows he's completely vulnerable now, but he doesn't think Bull is going to do anything untoward. And… he'd probably allow it, if he did.

"Yes," he says. "I just wanted to see. I can't help if I don't understand."

"I… understand," Bull echoes, and the only movement is a hand, lifted, near to his face but not closing that last distance. Offering, asking, but not demanding. "To help. Not to hurt. It's why I…"

His throat is tight again, and the words are harder. "… _gratias tibi_ ," he murmurs, reverting to older Tevene, and the language of ritual, ceremony. "I… need you. I need you to know me. To stay with me. To… help me."

Bull's voice breaks, hard. He _hates_ that, except – no – he doesn't. It's just very, very difficult. Assistance, support, a scout, a spotter… there's some help that's easy to accept. But not this kind, not the 'this is everything' kind. There are some things you hide away from the world at all costs, but Dorian is closer than the world. And it's raw, and it hurts, but it's right. 

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Bull says, with full sincerity. "I am so sorry I needed this."

Dorian leans into Bull's hand; a slight shiver running through him as the contact cracks a little of the mental wall he's still behind. "No," he replies, softly. "You don't have to apologise. I love you, and I want to help you, not because you're weak, or vulnerable, or inadequate, but because we're stronger together. You think I could have fought a dragon or dealt with that rift on my own? No. No. But the two of us, with the Chargers at our side… we did that. We killed a dragon, we closed a rift, we stopped a swarm of demons getting loose. _Us_."

"I still wish it didn't hurt you." Because Bull is. So very, very sorry that he has, even if he's also more grateful than he has words for. "But we _do_ kick some serious ass together, don't we?"

His fingers splay, caressing Dorian's cheekbone. "But… look at yourself. How many nights ago were you running to drink yourself out of your problems, and… now you're fixing _mine_. Kadan… you really are the most impressive person I've ever had the privilege to see naked." The last he says lightly, trying to lift the mood a little and show he's… he's not so broken as he was. 

"And I probably will again," Dorian answers, with a trace of a smile now. "That's the great thing about me. I'm very unpredictable. But… if I helped, then I'm glad, because it was all I wanted to do. And… I'm sorry it hurt. I realised it was the only way."

"…yeah, but… considering… it's how I kept myself alive? It was… never gonna be fun to open that box." Bull understands. He's also seen how some Qunari went Tal-Vashoth, and it was a lot, lot less dignified or safe.

Dorian puts his hands on Bull's chest, gently. "Tell me what you need, in the here and now. Please. I… want to keep helping. I want to make you happy."

Bull tugs him down to touch their foreheads together again, and just… breathes for a moment. 

"Wouldn't hurt to have a little more light, unless you plan on interrogating more secrets out of me? Not that I think there's many left. Uh… I like the pink fondant best, but I'm not convinced blue cheese is actually safe… and I eat it anyway… I like being scratched just under my horns, and I think Orlesian opera is only good for fucking in public where no one can hear….?" 

Dorian gives an obliging wave of the hand, re-lighting the lamps and filling the room with flickering orange light once more.

"Better?" he says, with another little smile. He feels closer to _himself_ again, though still not right, deep down. But… hopefully that will improve now Bull seems calmer.

"Yeah. Get to look at you." He sweeps grey fingers over his lover's brow, over his ears, down to his shoulders. "This is when you tell me _your_ secrets, if you weren't sure…"

"You know my secrets," Dorian replies. "You drew them out of me, bit by bit, with your seductive brilliance and irresistible charm. I never stood a chance."

Under normal circumstances, he'd run with a line like that and spin it out into something far more involved… or provocative. But he's still being careful, not wanting to push too much, too fast.

"Oh, I'm sure you have a few tricks left up your sleeve… like whatever _that_ was… or some embarrassing poet you used to like…" Bull tilts his head. "What can I do… for _you_?"

"I… just need to know you're happy," Dorian answers. He opts not to explain what _that_ was – right now, at least – because he wants to keep Bull moving forward into a better mindset. But he will later, when he thinks it's safer to do so.

"If you want me, then take me. Or… if you'd rather just fall asleep in each other's arms, we can do that. I'm not going to push for anything, not tonight."

He's clearly not quite right. Not about to breakdown or start trying to work out where the closest wine is, but… not right.

Bull shakes his head. "No… if you help me, you have to let me help you, too." He curls an arm around his neck, and pulls Dorian down, so they're lying nose to nose. 

"I always want you. But I want _you_ happy, too. And it would be…" He smiles, but it's sad. "I can't be happy at your expense, kadan. If I have to feel through it, then… shouldn't you, too?"

Dorian stares at him for a moment, hesitating over the words before he says them. "I… need to feel like you don't hate me for what I did. I _know_ you don't, but… I don't _feel_ it, not yet. I had to… close things off… in my head, so I didn't lose my nerve."

Bull's expression is pensive, but not negative. "I… understand. When I make you cry… are you angry at me? Even in the moment? Or do you feel nothing of the sort, even for a beat of your heart?"

"I… don't feel angry," Dorian answers. "The emotions are… they're complicated, yes… but I know you're doing the right thing. And I know it can work the other way around. Academically, I do. It just… won't resolve. In my head."

"Would it help if I told you… I had the fears you do? I wondered… was I damaging you? Was I hurting you, and convincing you that it was 'right' and 'good'? Changing you, like all those assholes did before?" Bull finds Dorian's hand, pulls it to his mouth, and kisses the back of it, oh-so-delicately. "I feel a flicker of it, every time. And that's what keeps me in check. If I didn't worry, or watch myself… if I never asked if it was right… then there's a chance it wouldn't be. But I do. I check. I watch. Not because I think you will be angry, but in case I _hurt_ you, or did something wrong. Something I should do better."

His tongue sneaks past to his lips, and he looks up. "I was never even afraid of you, kadan. When… it started… I thought it wasn't you. Because you wouldn't _hurt_ me. And… then I realised I simply wasn't afraid. I knew I was safe. It… if I hadn't been, then that would not have gone the same way. _Believe_ me. More violent men than you have tried. I knew I was safe… because I had you." 

_That_ cracks the mental wall rather more, and Dorian presses in suddenly, kissing Bull as hard as he can; hands on his face and breathy with the emotion of it when he finally has to break for air.

"I trust you," he says. "I promise, I promise, I do. You haven't damaged me, or changed me, but you have made me a better man. That much I know. And… I swear I would never hurt you. Not truly. What I did… I did because I believed it was necessary, and I took no joy in it. And… and it helped, so that's good, and I…"

The words aren't right. More kissing. More kissing is better.

Bull doesn't get much of a chance to talk more, mostly because Dorian's tongue is attempting to steal the words before they get to his lips. Which is fine with him, because he doesn't _like_ Distressed Dorian. In any way. (Well, maybe the Good Way, but absolutely not ways that don't lead to Delighted Dorian.) He grabs his face, and rolls him onto his back, so he can lie on top of him and continue the kissing. It's… not angry? But it's fierce, and it's hurty, but it's…

"I know you fucking wouldn't," he says, between bites of his lips, and squishes of noses. "I know. Because I _know_ **you**. And now _you_ know **me**. You did something you _hated_ because I… needed it. And I will _never_ be able to show you how grateful I am that you did. That – that you _wanted_ to."

He forces Dorian's head back, but only so he can push his nose into the mark still on his neck. "I would do anything for you. You would do anything for me. So tell me, kadan: _what do you need from me_?" 

"I need to be yours," Dorian gasps. "But… equally. Not in surrender. Not this time. I… need to feel how much you want me."

Because, if Bull does – and Dorian is sure of it, but needs to feel it – then it will put an end to the worry that he did something unforgivable. Plus the good will soothe away the bad. That too.

"Then don't surrender. Give. Take. Ask. _Get_." Bull laps at his throat, a little growl under his tongue and a hand grabbing behind his knee, pulling his leg bent and to one side. "Want?"

His head lifts, and his eye _burns_. "I _wanted_ you when I saw you. Furiously fighting. Determined and afraid and doing it anyway." 

The hand moves from his leg, and slides the chains he wears over the now-wet lovebite. "When you opened your mouth, I _craved_. Hearing your passion, the fire and belief in your belly, the mind behind those eyes."

Next, he glides down to the amulet, the tooth, and the key. Curls his fist around them, tugging only lightly. "When you showed me your magic – when you fought me – I _needed_ you. Right then. Right there. Screw the plan, screw all my plans. **You**."

One knee slams up between them, grinding into his lap. "That was then. Now? You've saved my life. You've _changed_ my life. You're my **family**. My heart. You know me like I don't even know myself. You give me a reason to punch a fucking dragon out of the sky, if it would make you just smile. It isn't _want_ , or _crave_ or _need_. I **love** you, but there's no word in any tongue that says how much, how deep, how… _completely_ I feel for you. So I will just have to tell you in any way I can." 

Dorian cries out in delight, and his hands go to grip Bull's face again. "I love you too," he gasps, now looking _very_ emotional. "More than I ever thought was possible. I was so convinced it wouldn't ever happen, so convinced it _couldn't_ ever happen… and then you came along and were just… just… _you_. And when you saved my life… you weren't just ensuring my continued living. You _saved_ my _life_. The whole thing."

He feels this is an important distinction to make. Bull didn't just keep him alive physically. He also gave that life meaning again.

"Tell me," he begs, almost urgently. "Show me. I want you. I need you. I love you."

"I want your hands on me," Bull purrs, as he kneels astride one thigh, grinding into it as his fingers flick at metal buckles and fabric layers that have no business being where they are. "When you touch me… there's magic even when there isn't… I remember what I can _be_ and _feel_."

His own fingers pause the unwrapping, just to slide over Dorian's upper chest and throat. "It feels like a dragon beating her wings in my head… every fucking thud of my heart makes me feel like I'll _explode_. And I think: if I touch you, it will go. But it doesn't. It gets _worse_." 

Dorian's hands move at once, going to start working on undressing the other man at the same time. It isn't nearly so involved a process, however, which means soon he's just stroking over Bull's skin – nothing more than fingertips – and looking up at him in something like wonder.

"You can be whatever you want," he says, gently. "Feel whatever you want. And I will challenge _anyone_ who claims otherwise. Including you."

"I want… to be this." Bull lays his hand flat, over Dorian's heart. "What… you see. I want this. Us. I want… to do something _good_. And I want to see you look at me like I'm…"

He chokes, and drops to kiss him again, hands on his hips and dragging at the offending things keeping him from skin. He slides backwards off the bed, but he's holding onto Dorian's unfastened trousers at the waist, yanking them off like a cheap trick with a tablecloth. 

"Naked. Now."

That makes Dorian prop himself up on his elbows, staring at Bull along the length of his own body. "You seem to have taken care of that, amatus," he points out, with a grin. "But… what were you going to say before? You want me to look at you like you're… _what?_ "

He can feel the other man holding back, and right now he's not in a mindspace to just let that go. But his tone is still gentle, and not at all pushy.

Bull laughs, a little strained, and grabs Dorian's foot, planting it on his thigh to unlace the boot. "You know what I was going to say. Or – enough of it." He lifts his bared foot, tugging the sock off with his teeth with a grin, before kissing the ankle. 

"I know," Dorian replies. "But… I need you to be able to say things, whatever they are. I need you to know that it's OK. I need you to know that I will do everything in my power to make you the joint-happiest man alive."

Ugh. Bull isn't used to people turning his own tactics on him. Or being so insufferably wonderful. He moves to the other foot, and hesitates a moment, hands gripping around his ankles on the foot of the bed. He only needs to wriggle out of a few scraps more, but it can wait a moment. 

"I want you to look at me," he says, voice a little too even to be fully natural, because talking about it doesn't feel natural, "…like I look at you. Like I'm… what I think you are. I want to feel… equal. _Worthy_. And it isn't to say you don't treat me like I am. It's… that I don't always… feel it."

Dorian is used to people looking up to him. It's pretty much unavoidable when you're an altus, the son of a magister, and regularly the most talented person in the room. And yes, for the most part, he likes it, because he enjoys the attention, and the respect, and the associated bumps to his self-esteem that stop him sinking into melancholy.

But… he's learned very quickly that, when it comes to a relationship – a real relationship, of which this is his first and only – he wants something very different. Yes, they play about with power and control, but that's for the fun of it. At heart, when all is said and done, Dorian wants _this_ to be a union of equals. Different men, yes, with different talents and different specialities, but ultimately on a level setting.

That's what a good relationship is to him. He's seen far, far too many in Tevinter that aren't, and it makes him all the more invested in ensuring that, once again, he does things differently.

"Oh, amatus," he breathes, a hint of sadness in his tone, looking up at Bull with adoration in his eyes. "I'll remind you every single day if you need me to. Because you _are_. More than worthy, more than equal. You always have been."

"Some days it is harder to feel it. And… I don't want you to think I'm…" Bull shrugs. "It's just. Sometimes. I guess." 

Bull kicks his shoes off, and kneels between Dorian's legs, one thumb gliding over the plane of a taut muscle. "I suppose I'm not used to people looking at me how you do. And when you do… it's… occasionally overwhelming. But it doesn't mean I want you to stop." His head turns, kissing the inside of his knee. "It's… _intense_. And a little… frightening. But a good kind." 

Then Bull hesitates, and squints. "You know when we play, it isn't because I – well, I suppose on some level it is… but it isn't about… punishing you, or changing the dynamic, or making me feel… better than you. It's… it's because you like it, and I like how you react. I'm not trying to… resolve anything. I just wanted to be clear on that. When we play… to me, it _is_ play. Or…"

Hmm. Try again. "It's only part of us. And it's… agreed. And it isn't… the only truth of us."

"I know," Dorian reminds him, gently. "Of course I know. I made that clear from the beginning, didn't I? I wouldn't do it if I thought it was _real_ , because I wouldn't want it to _be_ real. But for fun, if we both enjoy it… there's no harm in that. I _know_ what we are, at the heart of it, and that's the _ultimate_ truth of us."

"And… I understand what you mean, about it being overwhelming. I'm a little more used to it now, but at the start… it was a lot to take in. To have you look at me and know you just wanted _me_."

"I _do_ ," Bull reminds him, and leans in, walking his hands over the bed so he can settle between his legs. It pushes things nicely together, and he rocks, just a little. "Oh… I _do_. Damn, but you're everything."

He lifts one eyebrow. "I have a proposition for you. And I'm prepared to negotiate."

That makes Dorian smile. He won't deny liking the compliments. They soothe something deep inside.

"A proposition? Amatus, darling, didn't I already say yes?" But he's being playful, and it makes his expression light up more. "Tell me. You know how much I enjoy your ideas."

"Well… you like feeling wanted… I like feeling wanted… neither of us is particularly in the mood for _that_ type of play tonight…" Bull rubs a stubbled cheek over a nipple. "I was thinking maybe we could try something the young ones call 'making out'? You know… heavy petting… kissing… a bit of humping if we feel frisky…" 

Not that he intends to leave it there. Oh no. But definitely it sounds like the perfect kind of foreplay when feeling a little… emotionally delicate. 

"Now that sounds nice," Dorian agrees, with a strangely pleased look. "Although… somehow I doubt we'll be able to go for long before you can't resist the urge to fuck me blind… nor I the urge to beg you to do it…"

Then again, perhaps that's part of the fun.

"Well. We could also see if we could _not_ fuck… I mean… explore all other avenues…" Bull's fingers walk up Dorian's side, down over his arm, tiny little grey steps. "See how many other fun things we can do… until we can't _not_."

Bull leans to his lips, not letting them touch right away. "Can you blame me? Don't know how anyone could look at you and _not_ want to bend you over, fold you in half, or just mount you and bugger you silly… not my fault you're the most fuckable man I've ever met. I'm a hot-blooded man. And you make it _boil_."

"Mmmmmm, you should keep talking," Dorian urges, a hand on Bull's face. "I like hearing such lovely things from you… because you could have almost _anyone_ , but you chose me."

Not begging the other man to jump him really is going to be a challenge. But… a little distraction will help.

It takes a little, but Bull rolls onto his side, and grabs Dorian's leg. He bends his own top one, and pulls his lover's over his waist, so they're pressed close, with one hand free, each. Bull reaches around, grabbing a buttock and working it firmly, massaging it with his palm and fingers.

"Well, admittedly my pool includes the ladies, as well. And don't get me wrong: I _like_ the ladies. And the men. I like them a lot. But they don't turn me on anywhere _near_ how much you do. They were… mmm. Brackish water. You? Oh… you're a fine vintage… heh. Vint-age…" 

That makes Dorian groan – albeit very affectionately – though he's smiling at the same time.

"You are _terrible_ ," he says, batting lightly at Bull. "And wicked. Never, ever change."

He runs his free hand up the side of Bull's face, teasing at the base of a horn with his fingertips; the action rapidly becoming really rather suggestive.

"Because I like you wicked. And strong. And sure. And _fierce_. And at the same time… refined, and smart, and _so_ very caring… it's like the Maker took everything I want from a man and then made you."

"You forgot to mention my very sizable endowments," Bull replies, nudging his horn into his hand with rather ulterior motives and messages. He adjusts Dorian so they're crossing blades, squished between them, and he grips his waist to grind them both together. It feels very, very deliciously teasing, and strangely illicit and off-limits. All this touching and the aim to avoid what they both like best… it's perverse and wonderful. 

"I can't say I believe in your Maker… but if he does exist, and did make you… I have only one complaint." 

"A complaint?" Dorian repeats, looking faux-scandalised. "Impossible. You're going to have to tell me what it is, or I shan't sleep for _days_ agonising over the very thought."

The reaction is deliberately overplayed, of course, but if there's something he can improve, he _does_ actually want to know what it is.

Bull lifts his head imperiously. "It is a grievous complaint. The most serious."

He can't hold it for long, though. "…you took _far_ too long to swagger into my life. What the hell were you thinking? Do you _know_ how many nights of extremely satisfying sex, sparkling conversation, and soul-calming snuggling we've missed out on? Do you?"

"Oh, I am _terribly_ sorry," Dorian replies, still deeply over-dramatic. "I was trapped in Dread Tevinter, waiting for you to come and sweep me off my feet, and into your bed. Eventually I had _no_ choice but to go looking for you, because the lack of you was becoming _quite_ tiresome."

"Oh?" Bull pinches his cheek, but not too hard, and jiggles. "You wanted me to break down the front door, all noble savage, throw you over my shoulder and save you from the nasty magisters?" 

A little peck on the nose. "I would have, you know. If I'd known. I'd have commandeered my own ship and snuck in, in the dead of night, to come steal you away to a life of brigandry and eventual domestic bliss… but I suspect if a one-eyed Qunari broke into your room you'd have been more than a little alarmed."

"But only a little," Dorian replies, easily. "Once you'd ravished me a few times, I'm sure I would have been much calmer." He's being playful, but he recognises there's some weight behind the other man's words, so tones it down.

"Seriously, though… I would have been just as wary of you had we met in Minrathous as I was when we met in the Free Marches. But once we talked, once I realised you were like no one – Qunari or otherwise – that I'd ever met, I think the result would have been the same. Except maybe the first time wouldn't have had to be out in the middle of a forest."

"You _like_ that it was so… feral," Bull chuckles, and starts to knead at the back of his neck, still frotting against him. "But… I'd like to hear how you think that version would go. Perhaps… in one of the _more_ interesting taverns of Minrathous… in the shadows, at the back… that's where we met. How would you like to have been seduced, then? A hand under the table? You on your knees? Out in the alleyway, avoiding anyone passing by? Or would you want a bed, like a whore, but without getting the coin, after?" 

He likes to hear Dorian's fantasies, after all, and the man's voice is so damnably erotic. Bull decides to make good on the earlier promise, starting to plant kisses anywhere he can reach. 

"Mmmmm," Dorian purrs, arching at the contact. "I like to think you would have introduced yourself when I was drinking alone. Been too damn _interesting_ for me to ignore. All those clever little tricks of yours… slowly drawing me in, even though I'd know it was dangerous; even though I'd feel everyone else's eyes on me, well-aware I was fraternising with the _enemy_. Gradually making more and more physical contact, until I'm sure you want me, but you wait for me to be the one to say it because you want to hear just how badly I'm under your sway… and then I beg you to take me somewhere. Your room, at the tavern, if you have one… or the alley out the back if you don't. And _everyone_ knows what's going on, but they don't dare say a word, because they all know I'm the son of a magister… and you're a seven-foot Qunari with an axe bigger than half of them…"

"Oh, I'd _chase_ you, alright. Most interesting person in the room… one with the most to lose, and _bleeding_ your feelings all over the floor…" Bull adjusts how they lie, so he can hold his hip and let his thumb stroke ever deeper, lower circles, teasing at the edge of his groin. 

"So polite. So well-mannered. And nothing like what you thought at first glance… I'd be reading every sign, every signal… a dance, a _game_ … but would you know enough to know I wanted **more**? That a rough, loud fuck wouldn't satisfy me?" He teases at sensitive skin, his hips twitching to rut for what friction there is. 

"Wouldn't fuck you. Not the first night. Not the second. Make you want it with the touches, the looks, the licking of my lips… my legs spread wide so you can't avoid the glances… you'd need to chase me _back_. But I'd be afraid… afraid you'd say no to what I really want from you… I wouldn't say it, but it would be there…" 

" _That_ is what would really get my attention," Dorian reminds him, softly. "Most people I threw myself at took me up on the offer pretty rapidly. So if you didn't, but were clearly still interested… I'd be intrigued. I'd need to know _why_. It might make me a little more cautious… but it would also make me _want_ more. Make me push to find out just what was going on, to figure out why _you_ still had all my attention when there were plenty of easier men for me to choose from."

He leans into the contact still further, nipping along Bull's jaw; hand on his chest. Absolutely loving this, even if it is going to leave him insane with need before long.

"But I wouldn't know for sure until you let me peer behind all those walls you put up. Until there was a crack, that let me see who you really are."

"If you wanted too much… if I thought I might lose you… maybe I could tell you're frustrated, or looking at other guys… I'd find a place to pin you to a wall. Hand over your mouth. Tell you not to scream. Bite me, before you scream… shake your head if you don't want this…"

Bull slips his hand between them, coiling his fingers around Dorian's cock. "Stroke you, hard. Fast. Find out what makes your legs buckle. Find out what speed you need, how fast I can make you spill… watching your eyes over my hand… telling you it's not all I want. Telling you you should _run_. Not because I'm dangerous… but because if you let me have more, I won't _ever_ want to stop… This isn't that. This isn't a night and move on. I'd make you come, and then I'd tell you to come back tomorrow, if you wanted more. And I'd hope beyond hope you'd know what that _meant_." 

"F-fuck," Dorian gasps, as much from the mental images as from the hand between his legs. "I wouldn't fight, even though I could. I wouldn't, because I'd want you too badly. I'd want to fall to my knees, to return the favour. And when you didn't let me… I'd need to know why. And I'd wonder what you meant by 'more', and realise… you weren't talking about more rough sex up against a wall. That you meant _more_."

He shivers, so very full of need. "And I'd come back. Because I want more too. More than just sex. More than just a night's company. _I want to be wanted_. And I want someone to want in return."

"The minute you'd walk in, you'd see me. And I'd turn, and go up the stairs, knowing you'd follow. Knowing you'd follow wherever I went…" Bull moves his grip, taking them both in his fist, working the pair of them with ragged, hungry strokes as his voice loses some of the fine control. 

"Kiss you. Your face so small and beautiful in my hands. A fucking picture I need to pin to the wall and don't you know how delicate you are, as well as how strong? Don't you know how you _melt_ … no… how your colours surround you, the world dripping with everything you are… Kiss you and tell you that you had to mean it. Had to want it. Had to want _me_. Not my dick. Because I wanted _you_. Fuck the Magisterium. Fuck the Qun. It isn't just a fumble and a happy ending… I want. _You_." 

He grunts, pushing their heads together, thumb gliding over the tip of his lover's cock. "Need you. Need to be inside you. Want you to ride me… want you to _choose_ me…" 

Dorian is already trying not to whimper. And not wholly succeeding. "I would," he says. "I _do_. I'd beg you to take me. Beg you to let me make you feel just as amazing. And… when I curled up in your arms, afterwards, I'd know for sure that you're different. That I belong there, with you. _Yours_."

He presses his head even more firmly against Bull's, raw with emotion and longing. "Please," he gasps. "Please. I need you. _Fuck_ , I need you."

"Show me," Bull demands. Begs. Both. "Finger yourself open. Show me how much you need me inside you. I've shown you my heart, aching and longing. Needing you. Needing you to _stay_. Show me you're mine. Show me you choose this, and I'll show you how fucking **much** I need you, too." 

" _Anything_ , amatus," Dorian breathes, propping his knee up higher on Bull's hip to bare himself open, and then sliding two fingers into his mouth. He sucks on them for a moment – deliberately making it look good, because why not? – and then moves his hand down between his legs, starting to slowly, slowly push a finger into himself.

"… _yes_ … fuck… need you, _want you_ , so fucking much… need you to see, need you to know… want _you_ , only ever you…"

" _Fuck_." That's so, so hot. Too hot. Bull's whole being vibrates with barely-repressed want, and he lets go of his own cock, stroking Dorian's alone, instead. "Don't you _ever_ dare think I don't… or tell me, and I'll kiss sense back into you, and fuck every ounce of doubt right the hell out…"

He lets go of Dorian's cock, only to curl the same hand around his wrist. Not pushing or urging, but feeling the movements, watching his face with rapt intent. "Everyone in the whole world, and you pick me. Everyone in the whole world, and I pick you. Do you know how lucky we are?"

" _Yes_ ," Dorian answers. "Oh yes, I know. A lot of people never even get anything close to this. And we might have had to wait a little longer than we wanted – and you never got the chance to accost me in a back alley somewhere, though you still could – but the waiting was worth it. B-because now, here we are, and…"

He slips the second finger in alongside the first, body and breath shuddering in response.

"…and I need you to know what you mean to me, what you are to me… I need you to _know_ , so you never have to doubt it…"

"I don't doubt _you_ ," Bull says, very carefully. Not at all. His eye is soft, and his chest rises, and falls. "I might doubt your sanity, or take advantage of your shitty dating pool… but I don't doubt you. I just… I like to hear you say it. In words. In actions. In… everything."

He fumbles to find the lube they always have by the bed, ready, and pours a decent amount on his own fingers, then presses them against Dorian's, so each stroke out coats them before they go back in. 

"We could still do that. The magister's son, in a terrible inn. Maybe not the waiting for days part… but I could seduce you, how I would have done. How you deserved… see if you can keep quiet enough to let Minrathous walk by and not notice me ravishing their golden child…" 

Dorian's eyes go dark. " _Fuck_ , yes, we have to do that. _Please_. I used to fantasise about _that_ sort of thing too, and those fantasies would be a thousand times better with you in them."

He's shivering with a heady mix of pleasure and longing by this point; a somewhat pleading tone in his voice as he adds, "…but, right now… I just _need_ you. P-please. Need you to take what's yours…"

"Oh, then we'll do it, alright. Anything my kadan wants… he _gets_." And, to prove the point, Bull pushes his own, slicked finger in behind Dorian's two. 

" _Together_ ," he insists. He clasps hold of Dorian's hand, and pushes and pulls, fucking him open between their digits, controlling the speed and depth. "Together. That's what the tooth means: you're mine, as I'm yours. I'll claim you, take you… and you'll leave your mark on your territory, so everyone knows I'm yours."

Bull can feel Dorian's patience wearing thin, so he rolls onto his back, tugging Dorian to sit on top of him, and then pulls their hands out. He grabs his own cock behind the head, tapping it at Dorian's ass, pressing it against his now-slick hole. "No surrender. No yielding. _Joining_." 

Another shiver of bliss runs through Dorian's body as he sinks down on Bull's cock. He's relaxed, and ready, but he still feels it _all_ the way through; a soft moan slipping his lips as he settles into place.

"Yes," he agrees, keeping his eyes locked on Bull's face. "Yes. Yours. Mine. _Ours_. And together… we'll be unstoppable. I believe in us. In this. In you. And I don't know what I did to get so lucky, but I did, and you did, and I intend to revel in it for the rest of my days."

Bull's head drops back with a rattle of appreciation, his hands on his lover's hips, guiding him down and then holding him for a moment, so the snug, snug feeling draws out. Every breath seems to make it spark that little more, and every twitch, or jostle… it's like clothing broken in just right, fitting perfectly, feeling good against his skin. Not that Dorian _is_ clothing, but considering how highly he rates a good wardrobe, he suspects the analogy would be a welcome one. 

He lifts his head again, smiling up at the man poised on his prick. Right on the edge of when it's going to need to be more. Right on the edge before it becomes gloriously too much, and he holds his waist so he can't buck, or lift when he wraps his hand around his shaft again, stroking with sharp, knowing twists. He wants to feel him react, wants to drown in the clenching, the tightening, the way he moves inside and out. 

"Kadan… it's…" Stupid, dumb, silly. "It's never been alright, before. To… be afraid. But you… you met me when I was perhaps the worst I'd ever felt…" That sounds not like what he wanted to say. "You – you make it… alright. Even if I'm not very good at it, yet. Thank you." 

"You know I'd do _anything_ for you," Dorian reminds him, heavy-lidded with pleasure. "And that doesn't just mean the mind-blowing sex. It also means taking care of _you_. Helping you feel as happy as you make me. Which is _very_ , by the way."

Not that this part needs to be said, but it's important nonetheless.

"I want you to be _you_. All of you. The good and the bad. The good, so we can enjoy it, and the bad, so we can chase it away. You do that for me, don't forget, and I didn't think anyone even _could_ until you **did**. And…"

The emotional things are important. Very, very important. But Dorian is also losing his mind with every second he's impaled on the other man and _not_ moving; the tremors inside and out starting to become blatantly obvious.

"…and if you don't let me ride you, or flip me over and fuck my brains out, I'm going to start begging. More than I already am. So… _please_."

Bull could be an ass, if he wanted. Could push him further, strain his patience, drag the lust to astronomical proportions… but he's feeling far, far too affected. By the words, the expressions, the way their bodies are on the cusp of something truly wonderful. 

"Then be my guest… why don't you show me what you can do, until it's too much for me to let you hold the reins. After all, a Bull can't truly be tamed…" The hand on his waist loosens, but the other still strokes over his shaft, wanting to drown him completely in sensation. 

The words are all Dorian needs, and he starts to move at once; lifting himself as high as he dares and then sinking back down, and then again, and again. He keeps it slow at first – as slow as he can take without going insane – because he wants this to last, wants it to be _good_. Wants Bull to see just how much Dorian treasures every second with him.

Because he does. The end result may always be in his mind, but he enjoys _this_ part just as much. The way Bull looks at him. The way he feels, inside and out. The way Dorian knows there's nothing to hide, nothing to pretend, no need to _be_ anything except himself. It's a joy to share that, and a relief, and a privilege, all in one.

"You feel amazing," he gasps. " _Amazing_. And I love you so completely. Love _you_. All of you. Always."

Bull lets his other hand rove and roam. Over a buttock, up his side, over his belly and chest… just enjoying the smooth, hot skin. "Hot damn but you're something else. Do you know what you _look_ like, right now? Swallowing my cock whole? Do you know how good that feels?" 

One leg bends at the knee, firmly set so he can offer a roll of his hips to increase the stimulation. "Gonna take you to all the fanciest joints, and put my hand on your knee under the table. Gonna take you to skeevy dives, too, and have the _most_ fun. The biggest, softest, _sturdiest_ beds. The alleyway in the early hours, buzzed with drink and my hand in your pants… Ahh, kadan… you straddle every world you want to… you blaze like an inferno no matter where you go… come on! Come on! Don't you fucking hold back! Show it to me! Show me everything you have!"

That makes Dorian flat-out _growl_ , and – why the fuck not? – curl down over Bull, hands on his horns. He knows the other man likes that, after all.

"How we're going to get _anything_ else done, I don't know," he points out. "Seeing as we'll be too busy fucking each other blind. But I'm sure we'll find a way. And if you want _everything_ , amatus, you'll get it…"

He's trying to avoid using magic, though; partly because of what happened earlier, but mostly because he wants to prove how good he can be without it. That he'd still be _just_ as incredible even if he wasn't a mage. Still _worthy_.

Hands tightening on Bull's horns, Dorian starts to ride him faster, harder, using the grip for leverage, and for _pressure_. And oh, but he's going to be out of his mind before long, in the very best way possible; body shaking from the effort but showing no signs of slowing.

That makes Bull laugh, deep in his belly, and his hands move to Dorian's ass, helping with the speed and ferocity, pulling his buttocks wide, and then smushing them back together. "We – AH! – will have… some pauses… between… maybe between handjobs and blowjobs… save the main event for the evening… ggnnnhhh… want those dainty little woven shits on the tables and chains on the walls and fancy cakes and you with love letters written over your back in chocolate sauce…"

Bull does love when Dorian grabs hold, and especially when he starts fucking like a beast in heat. Wild, feral, furious and with no restraint. The slam of his ass to his balls, the cock that's grinding between them. "Keep going, keep going… don't beg for it until you can't take it any more… that's it! FUCK, that's it! Gah! KADAN you fucking BEAST don't you **dare stop**!" 

His feet are restless, and he guides him deeper with a grunt and a hiss, his hips shaking from the effort of staying under. " _THAT'S. RIGHT._ That's right! On my fucking dick! Right where I need you! **FUCK** but I love the shit out of you!"

The words make Dorian go even faster, the movements borderline ferocious now, and whilst he's always been inclined towards a certain amount of _vigorousness_ during sex, no one ever brought it out in him quite the way Bull does. And hearing the other man talk to him the way Dorian is sure _he_ should be talking to _him_ only drives him even more wild.

"You feel so fucking good," he growls. "You're going to split me in two and I _love it_. And I will beg… _fuck_ , yes, I'll beg… but only when I can't hold back any longer, when I _need_ you to fuck my brains out more than I need air in my lungs."

His blood is burning, but not with power, or anger, or anything like that. No. It's _desire_ , but with purpose, with grounding, with a future that stretches far ahead. And it's _everything_.

Bull laces his arms under Dorian's, hands gripping at his shoulders for better purchase. This way he can ram him down until it's almost agony, and staying under and only using his upper body is a delicious, delicious torment. 

"Fuck. FUCK. You make me so hard it fucking _hurts_. Do you know how hard it is to fucking _walk_ when my dick is still throbbing and sore, and wants to salute you the minute it sees you? SHIT. Are you _sure_ there's no dragon or Qunari in you?"

And – well – then he laughs again. "…I meant other than me. _Damn_. I -- DAMN. Not only do you keep _up_ with me, I think you're gonna wear my dick clean off!" Not that he wants him to stop trying. His fingers turn to claws, dragging sharp, hot lines down Dorian's back. Stinging, and marking, but not drawing the slightest of blood. He chases the lines of his anatomy, knowing just where to end and press. 

" _Ohfuckyes!_ " Dorian cries, arching shamelessly at that. "D-don't stop, don't even think about it, or they'll hear me screaming all the way off in Minrathous. Though they will h-have to get used to it eventually because it's going to happen a _lot_ and even the people who don't approve at _all_ will start getting jealous, and… f-fuck… _fuck_ … you _monster_ , you're going to… I'm… _can't_ …"

His control – self and otherwise – is clearly going, if the wild look in his eyes is anything to go by. Which it is. He bites his lip hard enough to hurt, trying _soveryhard_ not to beg, not, no, not going to, he won't, he won't, he…

…fucking will.

"…fuck, _please_ , I need you to flip me and _ream me through the bed_ right fucking now." A rough gasp. "… _Please_ ," he adds, a little more softly, clearly assailed by the worry that Bull might refuse.

Bull pauses only long enough to say: " _Anything, kadan_." That's all he's got time for, before the world inverts and he has Dorian on his back, and forces his legs up until one's on his shoulder, the other on the opposite horn. 

Bull grabs the top of the headboard – thankfully as solid as an anvil – and his feet go to the bedposts. Whoever made this bed, he thinks, had similar tastes. And that's very, very useful. It means he can throw everything into the coupling, into the hand around his lover's cock that's less stroking and more letting him fuck into it, with every slam of his hips into Dorian's eager, yielding but-oh-so-sweet ass. "Hold. Off. Hold. _Off_." 

Even though he knows it's not going to be possible forever, he wants to draw it out all they can. All the pent up fear, all the joy of being alive, all the wonder for how damned _amazing_ he is, and how utterly infatuatedly head over heels in love Bull is with him and--

" _No one_ in Tevinter will _ever_ be as loved by someone as **you are** ," he promises, and snaps up with each thrust. " _No one_."

" _Good_ ," Dorian growls back. " _It's about time I won_."

He can't do anything now except hold on, and _take_ everything Bull gives him. And love every damn second, of course, because he does, and right now he feels so good, and so happy, and so _right_ , that he might explode with it. And that's _before_ any other explosions, which are inevitable. And need to happen soon.

But still he fights to hold back, to keep going, to make this moment last as long as possible. And to give Bull everything he's asking for, everything he deserves. _Everything_.

Sharp teeth in a wide, wide smile. Qunari he may be, but invincible he isn't. It's getting harder to keep the punishing pace up, and his muscles clench and groan. It's a sweet burn, but a burn all the same, and he's going to pay for it tomorrow in all the right ways. 

"I'm going to _break you_." A simple promise. Not a threat: most assuredly a promise. He forces Dorian's other leg over his horn, so he can drive deeper, and bites his lip at the shift in the angle. "I'm going to break you _apart_. And when I'm done with you, the only things left will be what you _want_." 

His hand moves to Dorian's throat, pressing just enough to make his head spin, without any risk of injury. He _knows_ just how. 

_That_ shatters Dorian's mind in one fell swoop, making him feel as though the whole world has tipped sideways, and only Bull is keeping him from tumbling into the Void. He tries to gasp something out, broken and desperate but not in the least bit frightened, but he can't. All he can do is mouth the word ' _please_ ' and hope Bull has some semblance of mercy on him.

But the look in his eyes leaves no doubt as to how much he wants this. How much he _loves_ it, and needs it, and the gratitude just pours off him in waves.

As does more of that desperation. Because he is so, so close now, and he's trying to hold on, fighting for every last second… until the punishing pace is just too much, and suddenly his whole body goes furiously tense as he's caught on the edge, and it's _agony_ , and it's _bliss_ … and then he falls; his climax ripping through him so hard, he feels like he's _actually_ been split in two. Or, he would, if he was capable of coherent thought, instead of just trying to scream.

You have to be especially careful when you restrict blood or air, and Bull's focus is sharper than a razor. It's what allows him to keep going, and it's what means he lifts his grip the barest second after Dorian's climax hits. He's going to need the oxygen, after all, and the sudden rush of it into his lungs will be as heady as the lack. 

When he feels the snap – like a crack around his cock, like everything inside is stone as well as flesh – Bull roars like he's just killed five dragons with one fell swoop. The spasms that milk his shaft have him spilling and spilling and he's rutting with the last drops of strength he has… and it's… he…

He's not sure how long they pause, both gasping for breath and trembling through the aftershocks, but it feels like the best kind of buzz. Like his whole body is drunk, and light, and he's floating in a scented bath and he's aware there's touching, but it's all very complicated working out which bits are you, and which aren't. 

Eventually, he ducks from under the legs, and drops himself to his elbows, braced around and still inside him, and looking… pretty damned pleased with himself.

"Mmnnnnhyeaaaaahhh." It is mostly a word. That counts. 

"…agreed…" Dorian manages, though he has to concentrate to get the word out, and it sounds like it's coming from miles away. "You… good… at that…"

His whole body is just thrumming with bliss, and release, and _happiness_ , and right now he feels like he could lie here forever and wouldn't mind one bit. Also he's not yet sure if he can move. Or see.

"Not bad… yourself," Bull retorts, and pushes his face into Dorian's neck, his breath bubbling and his heart hammering. "In fact… yeah. Think you broke _me_."

He's not sure his legs will function. And he mostly has no desire to do anything but curl in closer. He always understood a little need for contact and petting after, but with Dorian? It's like a sexual necessity. Breathing him in, feeling his heartbeat, wrapping them both up in the slow, slow wind down. "Mmmmmmneed a… few years to get over that… how long do humans live? Gonna need at least five hundred…"

"'m a necromancer," Dorian points out, intelligently. "Can probably find a way…"

But… later. When he's capable of things like moving, and constructing whole sentences. He _loves_ the cuddling even more than usual, though, so he's more than happy to just enjoy that, pressed in close, tangled in the man he adores.

"No demons, annnnnd you got yourself a deal." Bull licks at the edge of his moustache, then – with one very last show of strength – flips them so Dorian's on top again. Because it's better for the long-term snuggle prospects. It means no trapped nerves or circulation, and also it means Bull has full access to Dorian's back as well as his front. 

"How… just… how?"

Dorian curls in _very_ tight now, head on Bull's shoulder and extremely snuggly.

"…natural talent?" he tries, hoping he's interpreted the question right, given that his brain mostly wants to go 'hooray!' very tiredly and not move for a long time.

"There is no way in Thedas you should be as good at it as you are. And – without meaning to be crass – I should know." Bull runs his fingers through the edges of Dorian's hairline, and pushes down on the tail end of his spine. "I mean it. I don't know how you walk in the mornings, because I nearly can't."

"Mmmmmm," Dorian purrs, arching at the touches, the fingertips of one hand spreading across Bull's chest in response. "I'd like to say 'extensive practice', but whilst that's technically true, there's sex, and then there's _sex with you_. Although by this point, 'extensive practice' might still count…"

"…beyond that, I'd remind you that I'm a committed hedonist. And apparently also a masochist. So… those help."

"You should see the _look_ on your face when you… gnnnnf. No… not now," Bull says, addressing his very spent dick. "If practice makes us better, I am both alarmed and excited to see what we'll be like in a few years."

Idly, he trails one finger around Dorian's stretched hole, teasing but nothing more. "And is it just me, or is sex after a really fucking big fight possibly the best thing? I mean: real fighting, not… the stupid crap I was up to…"

"Oh, it's not just you," Dorian agrees, with a bright smile. "It certainly makes the big fights easier to stomach, because I know it will be worth it later. Also because you _really_ like watching me in battle, and that is very gratifying. Especially when I remember what you'll be thinking at the time…"

"You're fucking _hot_. Maybe it's because it's something I can't do – I mean, part of it… I like everything deadly as well, but…" Bull whistles through his teeth. "I've seen mages fight, and I've seen mages _fight_ … but you do it like you're dancing, just for me, and everyone else happens to be in the vicinity…"

His middle finger presses down a little, until he can feel the pressure himself. "We need to train more, together. Me showing you more hand to hand, and other weapons… me watching you blow the crap out of everything… mmmm. Ohhhh, I have an idea…"

That makes Dorian lift his head, clearly interested. "Really? Do tell. Because I like the sound of that… even if we might need not to have an audience for a lot of it, for… reasons."

Reasons like them ending up fucking against the nearest flat surface before they'd even gotten very far. Although… maybe that's a reason _to_ have an audience, to make them behave a little longer.

"Just… training. There's things you need to focus for, right? Things that take precision and effort… really showy, pretty, complicated and impressive things?" Bull knows there are. "Ones that _really_ demonstrate your skill, and which distraction would potentially disrupt… and you'd be _so_ determined to continue to show off… despite all those interfering touches while you were training…"

"Oh, you _fiend_ ," Dorian says, sounding quite delighted. "Yes. Yes there are. Though I should at this point remind you that you're literally playing with fire… and I certainly won't be in a _surrendering_ mood if I'm doing that…"

Not to start off with, at least.

"Well, wouldn't the fire be a little further away? You won't lose control so much you set bits of _me_ on fire, would you?" Not that Bull is too concerned. He can take a bit of flak, especially if it's because he's getting his beloved wound up. 

"It wouldn't be about 'surrendering'. It would be… me helping you to extend your patience and focus against external sources." He almost sounds serious. "Although it may have the side-effect of making you even more horny when we fight. I always think a good hardon is useful in battle, though. Gives me a reminder what I'm fighting for, and intimidates the shit out of regular folks…"

Bull pinches one buttock. "Plus. Might be nice to fuck you while you're all fired up. If you could keep that passion and determination the whole way… that's a nice place to finish in, too. And two very, very determined and aroused men? How can that not be fun?"

Dorian grins some more. "Oh, I can keep it, all right. Even if you are _very_ distracting. I won't actually set you on fire, though. They give us training for that."

He traces his fingertips along Bull's jaw. "We could also try some non-magical duelling, because I can also fight that way. Not as well as you, it's true, but enough that there's scope to have some fun with it. Plus you're _really_ hot when you get all fired-up too, so we simply must find time for both…"

It's a good thing he's still feeling _very_ fucked-out, because otherwise he'd be suggesting they do it right now. And, if nothing else, that would raise eyebrows among the locals. And possibly a mob.

"So, what weapons do you favour?" Bull asks, tilting his head to get more touches to his jaw, clearly revelling in the caresses. And – why not – looping his arms up to start working over Dorian's shoulders. He did say he'd take better care of them. 

"Because you should know, if I see you with your hands on my weapon…"

"…amatus, darling, I'm not sure I could _lift_ that thing," Dorian points out. "Or, not without magically augmenting my strength, at least. I am a _delicate Tevinter flower_ after all."

He almost keeps a straight face through this. Almost.

Bull's hips roll. "Delicate my _arse_. No: your arse! Which should be studied by the Qun for some kind of freak resilience, if it isn't magic… but I would _definitely_ like to see you wield it. Even if you use magic to do it."

"And I favour quarterstaves, of course," Dorian goes on. "It makes sense, given that I'm usually holding the equivalent of one anyway. You have to adapt to the differing balance, though, if you have one – like mine – that's very top-heavy. And… don't tell my parents, but I can also knife-fight a little. I used to frequent some _very_ disreputable establishments and some of them were not places where you should let on about being the son of a magister. Or a mage full-stop."

Bull snorts, and nibbles at an earlobe. "I think knife-fighting will be the least of the charges they throw at you. But they'll have to get past me. How about swords? Swords could be useful to complete your skillset. You know about weighted staves, which are close enough to hammers, and probably enough to axes… but a blade with a bit more reach…"

Bull tilts his head. "You know, that Orlesian chivalry bullshit. All the fancy rules of dance-combat. That's fun for – well – fun. But to be useful… you want to be able to grab anything that's nearby and crack it over someone's head, or push it into them." 

"Precisely," Dorian agrees. "Fencing may be pretty, but pretty on its own isn't enough. You also need _substance_. I have tried fighting with a sword – a real one, I might add – though it wasn't my strong suit."

Also, by Tevinter standards, it's a bit… rough and common. Not as rough and common as knife-fighting – hence why he doesn't want that getting back to his parents – but not far off.

"I'd try it again for fun. And for interest. But it's never going to be my weapon of choice, even with magic out of the mix."

"Nah, not thinking to replace your primary skillsets… just broaden your horizons, and also get to see you waving sharp, phallic things. There's a _lot_ to be said for waving sharp, phallic things. You don't have the build to be as effectively intimidating with a maul, hammer, axe, or mace… but people react very viscerally to a sword, if you look like you know how to use it." Bull sounds dreamy. He's now imagining Dorian with said sword very intensely. 

"Wait… aren't there magic swords? I mean, not just enchanted, but _magic_ -magic? Because if you could do that, people would _shit_ themselves. And I would cream my damn pants." He's all but wriggling, now. "…I'm not trying to talk you out of what you're good at, you know. Just. Fun. And hot. And potentially useful in a pinch. And if it makes your parents turn funny colours, even better."

"There are. But those are the purview of Knight-Enchanters… and there aren't many of those in Tevinter, on account of the connections to the southern Chantry. I mean, I'm not saying I couldn't learn how to do it… I am _very_ versatile. And if it turns you on quite that much…"

Dorian grins some more, pushing up to kiss Bull on the jaw.

"I know you're not trying to talk me out of anything. And I'm more than in favour of having some fun with it, when we can. Maybe once this whole, insane situation settles down…"

Which has to be soon. Right?

"Kadan… I've seen you blow a dragon to pieces, close a rip through the fabric of existence, and who knows what else, all while making it look like you're… looking like you're not only good at it, but enjoying the challenge, and inviting me to come take residence in your bed and body. You could probably learn how to make me pink if you wanted to… though I'm not suggesting you do." Bull has no issues with how he looks, he was just shooting for the ridiculous. 

Both hands push and tangle into his hair, scrunching at his scalp. "You look, when you're fighting, like any number of whores and wenches would give their eye teeth to look. And I know you do that on purpose. I'm just saying… I _appreciate_ it. And I _notice_. And also: you're damn good at what you do. And you… you can learn more stuff. Me? I just have to buy bigger axes when I want to expand… this old Bull is out of new tricks."

"Reaching the pinnacle doesn't mean you're out of new tricks," Dorian points out. "It just means you've mastered them. And you have _more_ than mastered them."

He nigh-on purrs in happiness at the hands in his hair, eyes flickering with delight before he presses his head to Bull's chest again.

"I try," he says, a little more softly, and with a level of honesty he'd never, ever let slip in public. "I've always wanted to be the best. _Needed_ to be the best. Kept pushing myself, to stay ahead… keeping people impressed was the best way to control what they thought of me. To a point, at least. Plus I don't believe talent is something that should be hidden."

"It isn't. And nor should you be ashamed of it. It's… it's when you – and I don't mean 'you' you – use it to hurt others that it's bad. If you help others with your gifts… you're even better than you were before." Bull rubs at a particularly tender spot, one he knows makes Dorian's spine tingle. 

"Case in point: this evening. Or any time you've tried to save someone else. Which… is a pretty big number, just since I met you. But I…" Teeth in his lip. "I'd like… if you could do it because it makes you happy to do it. Someday. Not because you think you _need_ to. I'm already sold. So are the kids. I don't want you to think that some day you won't be impressive enough. Just _you_ is enough. The rest is a very, very nice icing on an already delicious cake. I won't turn the icing away, but I wouldn't turn the cake away, either."

That makes Dorian hold on tighter. The idea of _not_ having to compete is still odd to him, because it's been his whole life. And yes, it won't ever go away entirely, but knowing he can relax around Bull – and the Chargers – is… it's nice. Weird, but nice.

"I really don't deserve you," he murmurs, quietly. "But I've got you, and I like you, so I'm not letting you go now. So… there."

"You probably deserve someone who farts less, but I'll take it." Bull scritches a finger behind one ear, knowing it's a little ticklish. "So you show off all you want, because I'll _absolutely_ be watching. Then rewarding you. Usually with more sex, but… it seems to work, right?"

Bull notices a little shiver, and grabs the blankets to drape them over Dorian (and thus himself). "Really need to get you some thermal longjohns and a nice woollen coat. Or fur-lined. If I think it's cloak weather, then it's cloak weather." 

"This coming from a man who wanders around without a shirt on in _winter_ ," Dorian remarks, but affectionately. "I wouldn't say no to something warmer, though. Ferelden is already cold enough, and I can't help feeling we're going to end up in the Frostbacks before long. Where it snows. _All the time_."

And OK, yes, he's not going to get anything in a decent Tevinter-style here, but there _isn't_ so much Tevinter-styling when it comes to cold weather gear, due to the lack of cold weather in Tevinter. So… he's just going to have to invent it. Or, find a decent tailor and bombard them with ideas until _they_ invent it. If nothing else, he's going to _have_ to explain the merits of asymmetric hemlines, because everything here is so _straight_ and that just won't do.

"Look, have you ever tried to find shit to fit something this big?" Bull flexes, and then flexes some more, and then poses… even if it is ridiculous with Dorian on top of him. "And when they do make it my size, they usually put fiddly little buttons on and those do not work with my fingers. I just got used to it, is all."

And then, because he can: "Plus, if I covered up, you'd have to use your imagination more. And I _know_ you like checking me out."

"Of course I like checking you out," Dorian replies. "Have you _seen_ you? But… amatus, I'm a fashion aficionado. I _love_ a good outfit. Something with just the right lines, to accentuate all your best features… a touch of gold to make you stand out… something that makes you look positively _unwrappable_ , yet stunning at the same time…"

His eyes go dreamy, as his mind starts designing all sorts of possibilities… and he really _is_ going to have to keep a tailor on retainer when they settle in Minrathous. Maybe two of them.

"Alright… alright. Fair's fair. You do weapons shit with me, and… I'll wear shit if you can find it. Not all the time, but…" And is the Iron Bull blushing a bit? Maybe. 

"Wait, gold? Won't that look odd on me?"

Dorian lifts his head and stares down at the other man for a moment, giving this some thought. "…I think it would work. Though you might prefer silver… oh yes, that could be even better, and then we'd complement one another…"

He smiles. "You're stunning, you know. I'm just looking for more ways to enjoy that fact."

"I bow to your superior fashion sense. And I'd be… interested to see what you could do. I might have the sculpting done in some places, but there's more than a few…" Bull gestures to his eye-patch. "Dents and nicks. Guess you'd 'accessorise' them or make them into… 'features' or whatever it is… not my strength. But I do know I like ripping _your_ clothes off." 

A squish of noses again, a tiny stolen kiss. "If you want to polish this old rock up… you can."

"I'd make you look incredible," Dorian says. "Even more so than you do already. And it will make people _even_ more jealous of us, which is also a plus."

He kisses Bull on the nose and grins. "We are going to have to find something warmer, though, and soon. Otherwise you'll be riding with me wrapped around you, and whilst you _think_ that sounds cute – and it is – you will eventually tire of me stealing all your body heat."

It does sound appealing. "Sharing, not stealing."

Although… "It could make fighting a little interesting, if you're going to use me as your battle-mount. Worth playing about with at some point, but not necessarily as our modus operandi." 

"Amatus, if you charge into battle on horseback, axe over your head and roaring whilst I shoot fireballs at whichever hapless enemy we've run into, they'll likely run away screaming," Dorian points out, enjoying the mental image very much. "So… we should do that sometime. Because we can."

"Tomorrow?" Because yes. Please. Bull cuddles the bundle of mage on top of him. "After shopping for furs?"

Dorian smiles, and curls in closer. "It's a date."

***

The next few days pass in a blessedly-uneventful haze.

They manage to secure some suitable cold-weather gear – which pleases Dorian to no end – in a small town near West Hill. But beyond this, little of note happens. No more rifts appear, and there's no more trouble on the road, allowing them to proceed further south, along the eastern road beside Lake Calenhad, and taking a (mercifully-quick) boat crossing at the southern tip to avoid the long detour via the ruins of Lothering.

And that's how they eventually reach the outskirts of the town of Redcliffe, in Ferelden's northern Hinterlands. Dorian is not sure precisely what they're going to find when they get there, but they've been hearing more and more rumours on their journey: word that the Chantry has called an Inquisition, and that there was some sort of survivor from the conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Every piece of information makes Dorian more intrigued. And more concerned. Whatever's going on, whatever Alexius is mixed up in, it's huge, and it's dangerous, and it's going to get a lot of people killed.

And, right now… it seems to be converging on Redcliffe. The word here is that there's a large group of mages from various Fereldan and Orlesian Circles holed up in town, trying to avoid the templars. And if Alexius is anywhere, he'll be after them. Dorian knows it. He's not sure why, yet, but he knows a group of frightened, ex-Circle mages stuck in the middle of all this conflict will be easy prey.

Although, judging by the number of soldiers around, bearing the emblem of this new Inquisition, the wayward magister might have competition.

"…What _have_ we walked into?" Dorian wonders aloud, as they stand looking down into Redcliffe.

"Well, it looks like an Andrastian cluster-fuck, if you ask me," Bull replies, drumming his fingers on the edge of his horse's saddle. "With a dressing of magical bullshit. And I say that with all the love in the world."

After all, the Qun has plenty of fuck-ups, too. It's just unlikely the Qun are all that involved in this. If they were, he likes to think he'd know more than he already does. 

"So, what's the plan, Chief?"

Bull glances to Dorian, then back to Krem. "Divide and conquer, still. The son is still hopefully sympathetic to us, and we need Alexius as isolated as possible if we're to contain and control him." He just hopes he gave enough reassurance to Felix that he didn't intend him any harm in their last altercation. 

Dorian sighs. He's not looking forward to seeing Alexius again. Not at all. But they have to do this, and the sooner it's _done_ , the better.

"We should try to confirm that Alexius is definitely here," he says. "And perhaps find a way to speak to Felix alone. He might be able to fill us in on what's been happening. And… all these _Inquisition_ people are too templar-like for my tastes, so let's try to avoid drawing their attention unless we have to."

_Until_ we have to. Because he can't help feeling that's inevitable, too.

"Yeah. Still stinging from that Warden crap," Bull grumbles. "They got all those people mobilised at a remarkably quick pace. Makes me wonder how long they've been in the shadows."

Spies. Thedas is riddled with them. Speaking of… "You reckon Felix would leave a message, or a way in, somewhere in town?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Dorian admits. "We could try asking at the tavern… he knows I'd pass through there, one way or another. If he wanted to leave me a message, that's the most likely place. We could also try petitioning the arl for an audience. I suspect you and I arriving at the castle gates would turn a few heads. But… one thing at a time."

Bull nods to the others in their party. "Only ones that might manage that are Krem and Stitches. And then only if Krem didn't let on where he's from."

"Look, if we're not magisters, no one really cares, you know," Krem sighs. "It's not us they've got a problem with."

"True. Well. It's an option. But I like the first one: getting a drink." 

"It's more likely to work, even if Felix hasn't left us anything," Dorian points out. "One thing I can tell you with absolute certainty is that people in taverns _always_ have a better idea about what's going on than people in castles."

They head off down the steep road into town. Redcliffe is one of the more vibrant and prosperous settlements in Ferelden, and it feels a world away from the little villages and hamlets they've been passing through on their way.

In the centre of town, close to the shore of Lake Calenhad, the activity is even more pronounced, and Dorian likes it immediately. Even if it is still too cold. He stops a woman to ask for directions, and gets the usual look of disapproval that comes with obviously being a Tevinter mage, though it's less surprised and more resigned than most.

"Tavern's up that way," she says, pointing. "Gull and Lantern. Nice place, at least it was until those others of your lot rolled in."

_Fasta vass_. "My lot?"

"Yeah. That other magister and his people. Got the local mages wrapped around his little finger, so they say. Keeping clear of it, myself."

Now sure they're heading in the right direction, they make their way up towards the tavern, pausing at the stables to arrange to leave the horses there, at least temporarily.

And that's when Dorian spots a group of people, down by the docks; people who stand out just as much as he and Bull do right now: a tall, imposing Human woman, wearing armour emblazoned with some sort of Chantry emblem that Dorian can't quite identify. A male Dwarf, carrying what looks like some kind of miniature trebuchet on his back. And… two Elves, both armed with mage staffs; one male, bald, and devoid of vallaslin despite blatantly not being a City Elf, and one female, dark-haired and this time clearly Dalish, judging by the intricate vallaslin covering her cheeks and forehead.

Just another travelling party passing through? No. No.

_…One is rising, right now, and the crossing of your paths is written in the fates. She will ask you to stand against your mentor. Against your homeland. You must refuse._

That's what the demon – or whatever it was – said to him, in the Fade, just days ago, and Dorian doesn't know why, but he's certain he's looking at the 'one' in question right now.

And when a demon tells you to do something, you do the opposite.

"Hey," he says, trying to headtilt in the group's direction without openly pointing, wanting to draw Bull's attention. "Who do you suppose they are?"

**Author's Note:**

>   
>    
> 
> 
> ***
> 
> [Artwork by the amazing [lonicera.caprifolium](https://instagram.com/lonicera.caprifolium?igshid=1nmiip3o41035)!]
> 
> PS: Please remember to feed the starving artists! They live on kudos and even a :) comment can make a whole week! [Or a :-) if you prefer your smileys with a nose...]
> 
> ***
> 
> ...and we're done... with part one! We decided pretty early on that we wanted this to be a series, with the first part as an AU-prequel and the second as a semi-AU/mostly-canon piece covering _Inquisition_ itself. We're hard at work on the sequel now (69k and counting!) so our plan is to post it in batches as it's written/edited, rather than waiting until the whole thing is done. Because... this next part is going to be big. _Really_ big. Also it has more plot, on account of the boys having something to do besides each other (not that this will stop them!)
> 
> For now, thank you for reading this far, and we hope you enjoyed! :-)
> 
> ~ Shadow Side + Davechicken
> 
> ***
> 
> _Dramatis Personae_
> 
> The Iron Bull ~ Davechicken  
> Dorian Pavus ~ Shadow Side  
> Gereon Alexius ~ Davechicken  
> Felix Alexius ~ Shadow Side  
> Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi ~ Davechicken  
> Padraig Harland ~ Shadow Side  
> Stitches ~ Davechicken  
> Skinner ~ Shadow Side  
> Rocky ~ Davechicken  
> Dalish ~ Shadow Side


End file.
